


Another Man, Another Life

by willow_waters



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Dark Harry, Drug-Induced Sex, Drugs, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hermaphrodites, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg, Mutilation, Other, Rape, Suicide Attempt, domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-02-12 02:05:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 93,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2091696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willow_waters/pseuds/willow_waters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after the fall of Voldermort Draco is discovered in Malfoy manor - a lingering relic of Voldermort's brutality. A team of aurors including Harry Potter and led by Kingsley Shakelbolt discover and rescure the shell of a man, before an increasingly reclusive and dysfunctional Harry decides to take it upon himself to ensure Draco's welfare. A long, long journey of hurt/comfort ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of Ms Rowling's characters, though I sorely wish I did. I also wish I was making money off this story, WHICH I'M NOT. So please don't sue me. In case you missed the warning, the story is amazingly dodgy by anyone's standards. So read with caution. I apologise in advance for any typos, I don't have a beta and so probably read over the same mistakes 3,000 times. Hope you enjoy :3

1  
At the end of the war, somehow Harry didn’t feel as if he had won. Wait, what was he saying? Surely, he should be grateful, so many less people were suffering, his dead and those of others were avenged – yet he was confused, his mind was clouded, he had the constant sense of wanting to get away from everyone, which Hermione kept saying was, “normal, normal.”  
Draco was one of the last people they had found. After all of the horcruxes had been destroyed and Voldermort had died, there was still a lot to do, it would have been naive to think that there wasn’t. There were forgotten prisoners to liberate that didn’t realise that hell was over. Draco had been in a small bare room at the top of Malfoy manner, which had been Voldermort’s headquarters. He was disgustingly emaciated, naked, barely alive, tethered by his wrists to a huge, ugly nail high up in the wall in a position that meant he was never able to be in a sitting or sleeping position comfortably. Scanning for charms and spells had shown Harry and his team that an enchantment had been put on the rope so that Draco couldn’t end his life with it. Draco was soiled. Despite the same colour hair, the same height – many of the same physical properties, Harry simply hadn’t recognised him until he was told who Draco was. And how could he convey his horror, his shock, his utter disbelief? Harry had always somehow managed to stay so pure, so censored. He was sure someone had seen to that, most likely Dumbledore, but the whole institution that surrounded him that he could only now see clearly had moulded him into some model of a virginal hero. Not that he was. But, he has to admit that a certain innocence had been retained. He wasn’t complaining, he was grateful. It was just that now the shocks felt like blows, and he wasn’t sure how many more he could handle. They jarred with his old frame of mind. They were unprecedented.  
For the life of him, he wasn’t able to touch Draco. He couldn’t even go near him. Shakelbolt, usually so calm and efficient to the point of coldness, now seemed to infuse his actions with a certain compassion and respect. He cut the rope with an ornate knife – it couldn’t be removed magically.  
“Can you stand?” He asked Draco gently. Everyone else stood around the room, braced and disturbed, unsure of what to do. Harry was having his own problems breathing. Draco didn’t answer.  
Lupin frowned, then said, “Stand.” Draco stood.  
“Can you walk?” Shakelbolt asked. Again there was no response. They stood frozen in the agonising silence.  
“Walk,” Lupin said sadly, and Draco began to take hunched, stiff steps towards the door that Tonks motioned towards with the expression on her face that they all wore, that no one wanted to see on another. Draco walked as if his joints were stone, as if he had really forgotten how to use his body. His sore, dry, injured skin hung from him. There was a big gap at the top of his thighs from sheer, devastating thinness. His feet were blackened and infected. When Shakelbolt placed an aluminium blanket around him, Draco cringed at the contact with an absolute repulsion that’s energy they couldn’t have believed he had, as if his very life force were shuffling down his body, asking to be let free, to die, from where he had been touched.  
“Find anything else?” Tonks whispered to Lupin as they made their way down the stairs.  
“Three elves, a goblin.”  
“Draco. We are aurors. You will not be hurt anymore. We are here to help you. You will receive medical attention-” Shakelbolt was saying to Draco, who was making no signs that he could hear. Two mediwitch carts were parked beyond the gate. Naturally they were bigger on the inside.  
“Tonks is handling artefacts,” Shakelbolt said in an empty voice outside, looking grimly at a middle distance.  
“Lupin-”  
“With her,” Lupin finished. He didn’t trust her with artefacts, and cared far more about her than he ever could for Draco. Those were the facts.  
“Harry to assist the victim.”  
Harry scoffed in his mind. The victim. They all already knew this man. Harry was trained as a mediwizard to a level two, which meant that he didn’t only have basic knowledge but adequate knowledge. Training auroras made a lot more sense than getting a lot of medical personnel killed.  
They knew that Shakelbolt was going to do a final sweep. The sky looked as if it was made of stone. Draco was ushered into a car, and Harry followed, not knowing what he felt, but knowing that he was different.  
2  
Draco kept backing away from Harry, unconsciously Harry thought, until he couldn’t back away for the boundaries of the cart. He held his aluminium to himself, still hunched, with a terrified and sad expression on his face. He looked incredibly sad. Harry had never seen anyone look sadder. Harry hated that someone could be so vulnerable, so broken. Draco didn’t look at him with any recognition at all, which inexplicably bothered Harry. He didn’t want the past to be erased in this way…  
“Draco,” he began as softly as he could manage, “I need to clean you, and then heal you.”  
As Draco didn’t respond, it occurred to Harry to adopt Lupin’s technique.  
“Remove the foil.”  
Draco’s hands went limp and the foil fell to the floor, though his terrified expression remained the same. Harry cast a few cleaning charms over Malfoy, and was briefly stopped by how shiny, pale and…beautiful Draco’s hair, eyes and skin were. His hair was white now for some reason, probably stress, Harry reflected. Harry was suddenly hit by image after image of Draco at school, proud, happy Draco, and he was deeply saddened, and then angry at everything. He cast another spell over Draco, which he liked to think of as antibiotics in a spell, and since he was pretty sure Draco wouldn’t be comfortable with Harry touching him in anyway, he cast every healing charm he knew over Draco.  
Draco stood as compacted as he could, as if he wanted to hide or disappear. He kept swallowing, moving his jaw. His hands were cupped very tight between his legs. He wanted to hide anything he could of himself. Again Harry was deeply saddened by how vulnerable Draco was, how broken. The final spell that he cast was one to detect any further injuries. A red light surrounded some of Draco’s ribs, a hip, and…down there.  
“Sit Draco,” Harry sighted, motioning to a cot. Draco sat, wincing, but not seeming to care or notice that he winced.  
“You have broken ribs and a broken hip, I suspect.”  
Draco’s hands were still in his lap, trying to almost squash his privates.  
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Harry reassured in barely more than a whisper. He was reassuring himself as much as he was Draco. The whole experience was surreal. Harry could feel blood whooshing around his ears. He wondered if such assurances were insulting to Draco, as things clearly weren’t ok.  
“I’m not going to hurt you. Not now, not ever. Please believe me,” Harry said. He gently touched his hand to Draco’s ribs, all of which were painfully visible, and mumbled healing spells. Draco’s head was turned away from Harry.  
“Now I’m going to touch your hip,” Harry said in a chocked voice. After what seemed too short a time his work was almost done. There was a rap on the door of the cart.  
“You done?” Tonks called.  
“Not quite. Draco needs some privacy. I’m healing him.”  
“Fifteen minutes?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Draco,” Harry breathed. “You need to open your legs. The spell detected an injury. I’m not going to…hurt you or take advantage of you.” Harry gulped, sickened. He could very well guess how Draco had been being abused in his childhood home.  
Draco sat motionless, as if he hadn’t heard Harry.  
Harry sighed. “Open your legs.”  
Draco’s thighs trembled violently. His thighs were disturbingly thin, like a teenage girl’s. He had very little hair between his legs, or anywhere on his body. His cock hung down between his legs, his foreskin loose over it. Oddly, Harry suddenly thought that it was beautiful. And why shouldn’t it be? Everything about Draco was so pure, but that was due to the intense cleaning he had just been given. He certainly hadn’t been clean when he was found. Harry shuddered. The horror of Voldermort’s legacy went on.  
Harry’s fingers shook as badly as Draco as he tried to block out any type of thought, as he tried to barely touch Draco. His fingers ghosted over Draco’s cock. He marvelled at how it was possible to block out a measure of awkwardness (albeit not a lot) by just concentrating on one part of Draco’s body, as if it was detached from the rest of it and in stasis. He certainly didn’t look at Draco’s face. His own was on fire. His temple throbbed numbly, seemingly distantly.  
Harry caught his breath and swallowed his bile. One of Draco’s testicles had been too infected for Harry’s spells. It looked mangled and – Harry didn’t want to dwell on it at all – utterly disturbing. Think back to your training, he said in Hermione’s voice inside his head, when the spells don’t work you need to amputate.  
“Draco, I don’t want to hurt you. But I need to amputate,” Harry chocked. He needed Draco to understand that he didn’t want to hurt him. “That’s what you do when the counter infection spells don’t work…there’s not enough magic in your system responding to my spells…” and he felt that this was his fault, suddenly Harry was angry at himself.  
He numbed Draco’s genitals, highlighted the area that he would remove with a colouring spells and then removed it, stopping any blood flow immediately, so that it all seemed an illusion that neither of them had quite comprehended. He placed the removed tissue in a kidney shaped basin, feeling that his mind and emotions were somewhere else, wandering around outside in the cold. Feeling like he had no right to be anywhere near Draco, he passed him some clothes stuffed in a basked. They were odds and ends that had been left in the cart, with pens and notes and other detritus of life. Realising that Draco wouldn’t dress himself, and was probably in a worse state than when he had first entered the cart, thanks to Harry, Harry gently dressed him, not making himself have to be any closer to Draco than necessary. Draco looked…cute in his socked feet. Harry liked him in muggle clothes, in jogging bottoms, in an old t shirt, in a hoodie. Harry zipped up the hoodie. He didn’t want Draco to get cold. He fought the ridiculous urge to smooth Draco’s hair or do something equally offending and unnecessary.  
“Tell me how you feel Draco.” Harry knew his request was stupid.  
“That pain is…gone,” Draco said disbelievingly, in a rusty, unused voice. Harry didn’t have to ask what pain he meant. What Harry told himself firmly and finally that he must understand beyond any doubt, as a few of the others climbed into the cart and drove to St Mungo’s where Draco was admitted, was that Draco was not the boy that he had been at school. That was an untouchable lifetime away. Why did he feel like he wanted, needed there to be light in Draco’s eyes again? Was it to repair the past?  
3  
Harry hadn’t been to work in a month or so, after the last…what was he supposed to call it? Job? When they had found Draco. He just couldn’t stomach the endless horror anymore, and he was angry at himself for not being able to face it. So he took leave and no one stopped him, it was almost as if they had expected it. Why hadn’t they taken leave then? Why did he have to be treated differently, again? Hermione told him not to blame himself, to take time, take care. He avoided people. Alone in a beautified Grimauld Place (thanks to his trusty elves Dobby and Kreacher) he sat and drank and read and hated for anything to break the silence. Draco, Draco, why had things unravelled at Draco? He had confided the experience of that precise episode with Draco to the mediwizard that had trained him, a rare thing for him to do, to make sure that he had done everything by the book, and was assured that he had. But still, everything that had been about to unravel unravelled at Draco. He avoided Ginny like the plague, felt guilty some of the time, and wondered if he had got it all wrong, interpreted things all skewed, and whether he should contact her. Instead, he decided to visit Draco and didn’t know why. He called ahead, asking what he should bring. The nurse on the phone, (they had phones, finally) had been chatty.  
“Oh, he hasn’t had any visitors!”  
“Right.”  
“Bring him some clothes, he only has three sets and they’re very old.” Her voice was disapproving. Harry imagined a Molly Weasley-like character.  
“What clothes?”  
“Everything! Pants, jumpers, socks, t shirts, trousers-”  
Harry agreed hastily and hung up the phone. He somehow felt…lighter. Not better, mind. He was a man of instinct, and instinct now told him to pursue whatever it was that he was now doing. It was obviously what he wanted to do.  
***  
Draco mostly slept. He found it hard to wash, but managed to every few days, though only briefly, and in his pants, as he loathed being naked almost more than anything. He found his small cot very comfortable. His room was three metres by eight meters. In it was his cot, a small cabinet, and an old chair. A door led to a toilet, sink and shower cubicle. Draco felt that he had everything he needed, and he was very grateful to be left mostly in peace. He became desperately agitated when the nurses couldn’t just let him be, when they wanted him to attend groups or eat more. He didn’t understand the point in these things. No one touched him of course. Not after the first day when a nurse tried to brush his hair, saying that it was beautiful. He had screamed and screamed and screamed until he couldn’t get any sound out. He still had scars from where he had clawed at himself. He got up and made his bed because he loathed squalor. He was always cold, but this wasn’t intolerable. He took to wearing his only three t shirts all at once and wearing the hoody that Harry had given him on top. This stopped him shivering. Harry. The name stuck in his mind as if it should mean something. He associated it with…pain relief. Anyway, he wouldn’t think of Harry because that would cause feelings, and he preferred not to think or feel. He didn’t like the sounds of screams and moans that came from all the many rooms closely surrounding him, but his room was his space. It didn’t bother him too much. He was grateful. A nurse knocked on the door.  
“You have a visitor,” she smiled.  
The patient, Draco, looked at her dumbly, swallowed a few times, then appeared fearful.  
Oh God, Draco thought, could someone have come to hurt him? If so he wished that they would finish the job. He didn’t mind dying at all, he would have killed himself if he could have, before. In fact, he believed, no, understood that he was useless and that it would be better if he were dead. He hadn’t attempted to kill himself here, because he wanted to have more energy to do the job properly. He didn’t want a life of even more pain, and he didn’t want to be locked up in an institution-  
“Hello,” Harry said pleasantly enough, popping his head around the corner. It struck Draco as absolutely ridiculous that he was here. He shrank away, his body seemed to visibly reduce itself. He just wanted to be left alone.  
Draco said nothing. He only swallowed mechanically. His eyes were wide and fearful.  
“I brought you some clothes,” Harry gestured to the plastic bag that he was holding. When Draco again said nothing, he placed it on the inside of the door.  
“You know, it’s rude to not reply when someone’s trying to help you,” Harry joked. He didn’t know what had possessed him to joke, probably the painful awkwardness.  
Suddenly, Draco was personally afraid of Harry. He didn’t want to be punished for insolence, and he knew that Harry must be very powerful, that Harry could do anything and that no one, no Auror, no one, could stop him. The only two people that could have possibly stopped him were dead. Make that four: Voldermort, Dumbledore, Snape and Lucius. Is this what his existence had to be, being trapped between powerful, terrible men?  
“I’m s-sorry,” Draco stammered. Again his voice sounded bizarre and unused, as if his mouth were full of dust. He clasped and unclasped his hands very tightly. “I’m, I’m not used to talking, I don’t mean to be rude-” Draco squeaked. Harry noticed that his breath was shallow, and as he approached to sit on the battered chair in the too small room, the atmosphere seemed to thicken, and Draco looked about wildly like a trapped animal that already knows it’s doomed. Harry had left the door open, but that didn’t seem to be helping much.  
“Hey, I was just kidding,” Harry said awkwardly. Bloody hell, this was difficult! His previous thought was reinforced: this was not, and would never be, the boy that he had known. This was an absolute stranger.  
“Look I don’t mean to bother you, I’m sorry. I’m just following up your case, you know, for work.” This wasn’t strictly true: Harry was required to follow up one out of five cases that resulted in medical care as part of his mediwitch training, but it was his choice to pick Draco. He could have picked his second to last case, old Jim, whose enchanted electric kettle had scolded him and bitten him for good measure. Also, now that he had taken himself on leave, having to follow up one in five cases was a moot procedure anyway.  
Draco stared at him, trembling. It was as if his eyes were pleading not to be hurt.  
“I’m really sorry for what you suffered Draco, no one should suffer that,” Harry knew that saying this was almost an insult in the way that it could never make up for Draco’s pain, but he had to say it anyway, he didn’t know how to show it subtly, being a blunt Gryffindor. The corners of Draco’s mouth turned down in shame. He felt ashamed constantly. He felt tainted. Harry was pretty uncomfortable himself. What was a doing here anyway? He ought to go.  
“Well, I guess I should just…do a couple of diagnostic spells for good measure,” Harry said to himself as well as Draco. He stood up, and cast the usual spells over Draco, who was clutching the bed sheets.  
Draco seemed to have some sort of internal injuries and a slight fever. The bones in his feet weren’t quite fractured but, there was something wrong with them. His nervous system was absolutely shocked. The list of maladies went on.  
Harry cursed the Ministry of Magic and its paltry public funding for those suffering war injuries. It was really a travesty, it really let people down. Harry had done the fighting evil part, even officially being an auror was somehow easier than all the red tape that came with sorting people out with decent health treatment. Harry fucking hated bureaucracy. But, but what could he do for this very sick stranger, that had once been his enemy and that would have killed him and everyone he loved once, if given a chance? Who did help kill someone that he loved? That someone…they would have questioned whether Draco could have really killed. They would have helped him, of this Harry was sure. Dumbledore would have helped Draco Malfoy. But what the hell was he doing here, after leaving his job, after splitting from his perfect girlfriend? What was he doing, period? He should go. He didn’t bother saying anything complicated, it would have just been a lie. He simply said, “Goodbye Draco.”  
Why did Draco feel both disappointed and relieved at Harry’s leaving? He didn’t want to feel anything. He didn’t want his humanity to be awakened after so long of being treated like an animal, emotions were too exhausting.  
Harry meant to walk straight out, but the chatty nurse that had spoken to him on the phone called to him.  
“Did you give him the clothes then?”  
Harry walked over to her. “Yeah, yeah I did.”  
“Oh good. Every little helps. Must say, there’s been a bit of excitement between the nurses about you visiting today, and not just ‘cause it’s you. Some of them refuse to treat him, but he doesn’t bother me, poor thing. He’s lost his magic, he can barely speak.”  
Harry was sickened. “What’s wrong with his feet?” He couldn’t help burst out.  
“They’ve been broken and fixed badly so many times that the bones literally powdered away in places. His body’s just shot to bits, I don’t even know how he’s held together.”  
Harry Potter worked on instinct, this was known. He knew that this was known. He knew that he was mad for what he was about to. “Discharge him. He’s under my care now.”  
4  
Draco had followed him out of the unit with the same measure of fear and resignation that he now seemed to permanently possess. He didn’t know if he wanted to leave or should leave but, what else could he do? How could he refuse Harry, and did he even want to?  
Nurses had warned Harry that Draco wouldn’t be able to handle apparation for the moment, and frankly, Harry was scared of spooking him out of his wits if he held him close, so they took the Knight Bus. Draco looked so different that no one abused him for being who he was, and all due, superfluous respects were paid to Harry as they sat down at a nice booth. The bus was almost empty, and it was a beautiful, calm evening. The sky was pink and darkening, and Harry could really feel the night, it was one of those nights that seemed to be thrumming, he could smell it. What was he doing?!  
Draco wasn’t thinking of much. He could barely drag himself around, he was half asleep. A shiver ran through him violently, but God, he was cold most of the time. Harry took off his expensive, simple, London wool jacket and draped it around Draco. Draco was terrified of falling asleep.  
“Am…am I yours now?” Draco’s whisper was almost inaudible. A tear ran down his face. Harry was horrified. He wasn’t prepared for a show of emotion, but in hindsight, just what on Earth had he been expecting?  
“Er, pardon?!”  
“Am I y-yours now? Am I your property?”  
At least Draco was talking, Harry had thought that Draco couldn’t talk anymore. “No, you’re definitely not my property, Christ! I can tell you that. I’ve got elves, not that they’re… look, you’re staying with me because they’d only keep you six weeks at that other place, that’s standard. And they didn’t give you medical attention. Where would you have gone afterwards with no magic? Why I’m helping you, I don’t know.”  
The honesty that Harry had revealed in his last sentence laid his stance out bare and without embellishment before both of them. It created a rare, clear, calm moment of insight. They sat in silence for the rest of the journey.  
***  
They glided efficiently and silently through the rich areas of London, places that didn’t look like history or architecture to Harry, but just money. Finally, the bus stopped at one of those areas you get in the centres of cities that seem just camouflaged enough to be unnoticed, and therefore retain a sense of being residential, as if they were the eye of the storm. Harry supposed that in the case of Grimmauld Place, there was definitely some literal camouflaging going on.  
The square in which the house stood was quiet and elegant. Areas of neat grass and painted black, shiny, pointy railings surrounded it. Number 12 Grimmauld Place was the middle house in the C or box shaped square, there were twenty four houses in all.  
“Well er, here we are,” Harry said. Draco looked dazed, sick and afraid.  
They stood before number eleven and number thirteen. All was calm. Then, number twelve grew between the two houses with the sound of grinding stone and shudders, until it took up the whole of the side of the square that they were facing. It was like a great mansion. From an aerial perspective, the square would now look like a T than a C. Dust rose from the building during its appearance and expansion. As someone who had believed that magic didn’t exist for the first eleven years of his life, Harry never ceased to be amazed by it sometimes. Harry motioned towards the smart steps that had a small, potted, round bush on each side, and the large, polished black door. Draco looked as frightened as ever. He seemed to stir in his skin, as if considering the option of running away as fast as he could. Then his shoulders slumped even further. With stone feet, he walked up the steps somehow. They were inside, in darkness.  
5  
Harry was aware that Draco was making a low keening sound.  
“Easy,” he said instinctually. He’d had a fair bit of experience comforting traumatised people in his line of work.  
The dim Victorian oil lamps of the hall came on slowly. Harry always felt some embarrassment when people saw Grimmauld, and this was no exception. It was old, it was musky, it wasn’t really Harry, and he had seen enough muggle shows with fake gothic sets to cringe at his home looking the same way.  
“Well here we are,” Harry gestured. He had some feeling that he should keep talking brightly and cheerfully around Draco. Of course Draco just stood looking lost and afraid. Lost, not so much in terms of location, but in himself, behind his eyes.  
“This way to the kitchen,” Harry said, leading the way. After a few steps he could hear Draco following him. “Kreacher? Dobby?” he called.  
The elves appeared and were silent and maybe even surprised at the sight of Draco for the barest instant, then they were hulloing and bustling about for hot broth and crusts of bread and butter. Elves saw a lot, after all, Harry thought. It was hardly like them to feel awkward. Harry sighed, hung up his long, Weasley knitted scarf and scraped back a chair for Draco. It was so strange having him here, so so strange, and sort of exciting, he was this unknown presence. Draco sunk down into the chair slowly like a weight in water, his expression distant and of absolute dread.  
Harry took a seat opposite him, and was glad to unlace his boots. “How’re you doing Dobby?” he asked, like he did every day.  
“Excellent!” The elf exclaimed over his shoulder, like he did every day. “Dobby did not think he would be seeing master Draco again, Dobby is delighted!”  
As ever, Dobby knew how to be awkward. Draco cringed rather visibly. Draco’s hair was such a lovely white. Actually, it was the palest shade of blonde, and even Draco’s eyelashes and eyebrows looked this light. Dobby placed some food in front of Draco, which he regarded with misery.  
“I can get you something else if you want,” Harry said, a little embarrassed. He didn’t know what Draco liked. Oh yeah. He didn’t know anything about Draco, and had still randomly taken him home with him. Maybe Hermoine was right, maybe his behaviour was more erratic. And it’ll only be one more little thing here and one more little thing there before… she was saying inside his head.  
“Is…I…” Draco seemed to be struggling. “Is this for me?” He asked Harry, as if he were trying not to sound hopeful.  
“Yes,” Harry said, frowning. And then he understood. “Yes Draco, it’s for you, you can eat it, it’s ok.” He smiled encouragingly.  
Again Draco blinked at the dish, as if he dare not hope, or as if he didn’t understand. “Is it safe?” He finally asked, as if asking were pointless anyway. Again after a moment, Harry understood grimly. “Yes Draco, it’s not poisoned.” He said in a flat voice. So. The sick creatures that had tormented Draco poisoned his food on the rare occasions that it was provided.  
“Look,” Harry said, and took a piece of bread, dunked it in the soup, and ate. “Besides, Dobby’s too independent, he wouldn’t let me hurt anyone,” he said lightly. He wasn’t sure if this was strictly true, but he may as well kill two birds with one stone and reinforce Dobby’s good habits.  
After a second Draco was wolfing down his scalding meal at break neck speed as if it could be taken away from him. Harry sighed and leaned back. It had been a quiet life here, with only two elves to talk to. He liked them, especially Dobby, but sometimes talking to the elf made him feel like he was talking to himself.  
“So…what do you want to do now?” Harry felt he said to the air. Draco just stared at him. It occurred to Harry that there was nothing to do. Sure, there was gardening and Quidditch and visiting friends and cooking and hey, even watching a bit of TV, but none of these felt appropriate with…a tortured stranger who had been a former enemy. And when would they? Draco would probably want some time alone to adjust, Harry figured.  
“I guess I’ll show you to your room.” Was it Harry’s imagination or had Draco just paled even more, if that were possible? “Don’t, er, worry,” He said hastily. “It’s just opposite mine. It’s nice. Big. En-suite.”  
Harry was aware that it looked as if Draco was in pain when he stood or walked, and made a mental note to take him to a good healer soon.  
“Are you in pain Draco?” He said while they were both standing away from the table, Draco slightly stooped. Harry frowned.  
“Here,” he said. He went over to the kitchen fireplace, which was plain in design and modest compared to some of the other rooms, picking up a poker. Draco’s eyes widened in alarm and he took a few, what must have been painful, steps back until his back hit the kitchen table.  
“Hey! It’s ok,” Harry urged. Things were going to be very difficult if Draco thought Harry was going to hurt him at every small movement. Harry transfigured the poker to a cane that fit Draco’s proportions perfectly. Harry paused a moment to note that the cane seemed very Draco, it was slim and seemed to be made of bone, with an elegant carved handle and a subtle silver leaf pattern along it. Harry never really concentrated when he transfigured things but it seemed to come to him naturally. Hermione was always badgering him to try more – But Harry, just imagine what you could create when you put your mind to it, if this is what you’re creating when you don’t! Metal to bone Harry? That’s unheard of! The way Harry thought of it was that he must be thinking about his transfigurations on some level, just not consciously. Meanwhile having a cane instead of a poker had done nothing to calm Draco, whose breath was rattling.  
“This is to help you walk,” Harry said loudly and slowly. When Draco did not move, he muttered a version of the accio charm, which sent the cane into Draco’s hand with a whoosh! As they made their way up the stairs, Harry reflected that magic must be beyond terrifying to Draco, who had had it used against him in the worst ways imaginable, worse than death, and who now didn’t have it to protect himself against, he who had only ever known magic, who had prided himself on it and built his identity around it, he who would be so much more clueless than a muggle born.  
“Well, this is your room,” Harry said, inside Regulus’s old room. The elves, who had come up to be with Harry and Draco out of curiosity, (Kreacher could barely contain his excitement at Draco and kept making nervous little yelps of delight), kept it in spotless condition. It was double the size of a large bedroom and had an adjoining bathroom. The deep velvet curtains and furnishings gave the room a protective, grand, hushed feel which Harry personally liked, his room had it too, (but done up in Gryffindor gold and red rather that green and silver), as it was nice to be somewhere cosy away from the photographers that hounded him. Sirius’ family had certainly been fond of velvet and brocade. The thought of Sirius sent a pang of agony through Harry that momentarily removed him from the present.  
“Ok!” He said a little too loudly, making everyone jump. “This, er, this is your room. Make yourself at home, just don’t chuck anything out as there could be important photos and letters, I don’t know, haven’t really been through everything in this house.”  
Draco stood as small as he could, looking utterly submissive with his hands clasped over his new cane. Harry was conscious that Draco only had one small carrier bag, which Harry had brought for him, with all his belongings in the world in it, including the few clothes that Harry had got him. He looked so sweet in his small, thin, white little plimsolls, grey jogging bottoms and long sleeved white cotton top. Somehow he still managed to look very neat. Dobby had made a mad dash around Primark for those clothes. At some point they could get some much nicer things. Draco was abnormally thin. He was the kind of thin that was much thinner than what you imagine when you think ‘thin’. He looked very young, and ill, not like a man in his early twenties, at a time that should have been his prime. How many years of unimaginable torture had he suffered?  
Down four five flights of stairs in the hallway by the landline, Harry could finally feel his adrenaline rush slowing down. Was he out of control, the way people sometimes feared he was? He took a single, ragged breath, then dialled Hermione’s mobile, not thinking about how he wanted a private chat with her, rather than her and Ron. Hermione answered after one ring.  
“Harry?” No hello. This was a sort of indicator at how things were now. She was always waiting for something, now that Harry had left his job and split from Ginny.  
“I’ve done something,” Harry began, and started telling Hermione everything. For some reason, he got a sense that he shouldn’t be alone in this.  
6  
Hermione had thought it was bonkers. And strange. And worrying. And bonkers. She had said a lot of repetitive things about professionals and appropriacy and letting people do their jobs. She asked if Ginny knew, which to Harry seemed irrelevant. She said the media didn’t know yet, because otherwise she would have known already, but they would soon, and then bla bla bla… Actually, Harry was worried about the media. He was worried about Skeeter, who had a personal grudge against him.  
Draco had stood in the middle of the room for a while. The grand, plush old carpet and the furnishings seemed to hush all movement. His brain was slow. After a few moments, he went to a corner of the room, and lay curled there to sleep. He understood that he was Harry’s plaything now, and knew that he should be grateful, as it was much more than he deserved and far better than he could have hoped for. He felt angry at the part of himself that couldn’t accept ever being used again, that screamed and panicked at the idea. Harry, being the noble man than he was, had provided him with clothes and means of hygiene and food and a room, it was far better than anything he had experienced in years. But why did Harry want such a hideous, useless, damaged thing as Draco? Draco couldn’t even do magic any more. He could barely talk or walk. Harry was the wizarding world’s most eligible bachelor, and could do better to say the least. Perhaps he just wanted something easy and throwaway that didn’t require any effort, which Draco certainly was. Draco noted that once he was more familiar with his surroundings, he should find a means of killing himself.


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone sees any typos/other errors please let me know, as I said I don't have a proofreader so might be reading over and over the same mistakes. Hope you enjoy :)

PART 2  
7  
“So, so let me get this straight,” Ron frowned. “You found Malfoy, and you just, what, adopted him?” Ron had this incredible talent of summing things up that Harry really felt was under appreciated. Hermione had come over the day after Harry’s call. Harry hadn’t been able to resist and had only half wanted to, and of course Ron had followed. Ron hadn’t known the reason for Hermione’s visit from the beginning, but as the conversation ensued, he had certainly cottoned on.  
“I didn’t adopt him,” Harry said into his tea. They were sat round the kitchen table. Fragrant smoke rose from his cup. Rose and Hugo were chasing each other in the garden. “It just seemed like the right thing to do. The place he was in wouldn’t have kept him, and then where would he have gone? The wizarding community would shun him and loathe him, he has no magic, no money,” No self-confidence, he added to himself.  
Ron was staring at him like his head had sprouted blast-ended skrewts. Hermione was looking at him like he was a puzzle she was trying to solve, like she had some of the pieces but couldn’t guess at others.  
“And that’s your problem how?” Ron went on. “You did your job. You found him, you healed him, you brought him in, more than many would do, hey! Come on, I mean he’s a git but I would have too, hell, your elf bought him clothes and set him on his merry way. At no point was anyone expecting you to feed, clothe and house him off your own back Harry, fuck! You don’t have to save everyone.”  
Ah. So that’s why Ron thought he had done this. Harry considered the idea, maybe it was true, but no – there was something more tugging at his instincts. He just didn’t know what this was yet. He only had a feeling that maybe everything would be fine if he trusted himself.  
“This is beyond weird. You working flat out, without rest, without seeing your friends, without having a life, splitting from the woman that was meant to be your wife-” Ron’s breath hitched, and he tried to move on, his face going red, “That was weird. Now this, this is beyond weird. We’re at beyond weird mate. Malfoy is living in your house.” Ron thought that Harry didn’t understand what he had actually done, so if he kept loudly repeating the facts, the absurdity of the situation would sink in for Harry. Maybe reality should have instead sunk in for Ron.  
“Harry,” Hermione said gently, placing and earnest hand on his arm. “We already know what you’ve told us, don’t talk politics. I have a career in politics. What I want to know is why Malfoy is in your house rather than the countless other victims you’ve treated.”  
Harry shrugged and looked out of the window. He felt tired. “Well, it’s my turn this time,” He said nonchalantly.  
“Excuse me?”  
“I saved him, he saved me, now I save him…”  
“Oh Harry.” And now Hermione thought that he was doing this to pay a debt. He did have a debt to pay but, no, that idea didn’t seem to feel fully right in his gut either. Hermione was looking at him with big sad eyes. How he hated that.  
“You guys wanna see him?”  
“No?” Ron retorted.  
“Yes,” Hermione said softly.  
***  
Harry knocked on Regulus’s door. “Draco?”  
“Draco? What is he, your boyfriend? And you’ve set him up here opposite you? Are you looking to get killed in your sleep? These risks you take, they’re not even fun.”  
“Ron, hush!” Hermione said. Harry let them settle into their comfortable bickering, the children somewhere down stairs now with the elves, as he opened the door.  
At first Harry was confused, because Draco wasn’t in the bed. He felt panicked then, had Draco escaped? Then his eyes fell on the curled little form in the corner of the room. He motioned at the others to stay where they were, and went to kneel next to Draco, gently nudging him awake. It was nice to see Draco coming to the surface of himself like his head were breaking water, his light grey eyes becoming visible behind his long, pale lashes, before they widened in alarm and terror, and he began struggling, and banging himself against the wall.  
Harry immediately moved away. “Hey! It’s ok! I’m not trying to hurt you. I was just waking you so you could meet…well, not even that. Why on earth are you sleeping on the floor?”  
“I’m sorry,” Draco stammered, his back to the wall, his knees drawn to him. “I didn’t know I wasn’t to sleep, I’m sorry.”  
Harry didn’t know what Draco was going on about momentarily, then said, “No Draco, of course you’re allowed to sleep! But you’re meant to sleep in the bed, it’s there for you.”  
Draco looked at Harry like he was trying to decide if he was being told the truth, then looked away as if he couldn’t figure it out. With his cane his gingery helped himself up, and hobbled over to the four poster bed, where he pulled the thick, bountiful covers up to his lost eyes.  
“Ok Draco,” Harry said, “Now this room’s here for you to use. Feel free to use everything in it, it’s yours. Do I make myself clear?”  
“Yes sir,” Draco said very quietly.  
“And don’t call me ‘sir’. It’s Harry.”  
Every time Harry thought he had a grasp on the depraved, inhumane way in which Draco had been treated, his ideas were readjusted for the worse. It seemed like its scope was endless.  
“I’ll leave you to rest,” Harry sighed, shaking his head.  
Harry hadn’t bothered to introduce anyone to anyone in the end, needless to say he had got distracted.  
“That thing was Malfoy?” Ron asked at the front door. “That looked like a twelve year old girl, with the long hair and everything.”  
“Ron!” Hermione said.  
“All right, fifteen.”  
The children were gathered up and were quiet. Each had a paper bag of treats from Dobby, who quite sweetly really seemed to love them. Harry no longer seemed a puzzle in Hermione’s eyes. Instead she now regarded him with horrified understanding. This irritated Harry, who didn’t understand anything himself.  
“That Malfoy stuff is weird,” Ron said in the street. “That was Malfoy? I can’t wait for this to blow over, I’ve got that Cannon ticket for Harry in two weeks. This’ll all be over then, but he needs help in general. This is the worst thing yet. Worst that when he was banging Diggory while Diggory was banging Chang, then started banging Chang after Diggory died.”  
“Ron, that was a very difficult, confusing, depressing time for Harry. Imagine trying to sort out your sexuality and relationships in the shadow of Voldermort, who bears a personal grudge against you.”  
“I’ll just be glad when he’s gone. I’m sorry, it’s not Harry’s problem.”  
“It’s not Harry’s problem, but I have a feeling Draco won’t be gone so soon. Hugo! Stop taking Rose’s cookies, you’ve eaten all of yours.”  
“It’s ok mum, I don’t mind!”  
***  
Upstairs, Draco thought he was in the most comfortable bed he’d even been in in his entire life. This bed seemed even larger than the ones he had experienced when he was at home or at Hogwarts, a life time away, a reality away. He didn’t want to think about that though. He didn’t want to set himself up for disappointment by remembering being human. He felt like a twig on a pillow. Even with all the pain in his body, this was incredibly comforting. He pushed away his ideas of what he’d have to do in return for all of this kindness. What did it matter? He was a whore, and Harry seemed kind enough. More than that; Harry was better than he could have ever hoped for. He just hoped that such kindness wouldn’t turn and become unbearable, but he had to make sure to do as he was told for that to be the case. But how could he guarantee it? Nothing could be guaranteed, he had been taught that the hard way. The idea of suicide was still tugging urgently at him, and it was with this mix of uneasy thoughts that he fell into a fitful sleep.  
8  
Draco had woken, immediately scanning his surroundings to make sure that Harry rescuing him hadn’t been some elaborate, desperate hallucination. Then he had used the bathroom. Doing thing was a very slow process when one didn’t have any magic and when one’s body was essentially disabled. Dobby appeared in the room with his air of ridiculous cheer and set down a beautiful, shining silver tray of orange juice, a stack fresh toasted bread and butter, and jam.  
“Good morning Master Malfoy! Dobby is pleased to see you up sir! Dobby has brought you breakfast!”  
“Thank you,” Draco said. He had been broken into a gentle, different man, who feared being proud.  
“You’re Welcome! Dobby would stay sir, but Dobby has been told not to bother Master Malfoy! Dobby will return to help Master Malfoy!” Dobby then disappeared with a pop. Draco carefully put some jam on a piece of bread. His hands shook a lot these days. As the glorious taste of sweetness touched his tongue, Draco remembered that he had always had a sweet tooth. It was amazing how much of himself he had forgotten. Sweetness! It was incredible in his mouth, on his tongue. The crumbs in his mouth were moist and buttery. There was a knock on the door, and before Draco knew Harry was standing in the room. Draco dropped his bread, going bright red.  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” He kept repeating as he sank to the floor. Harry got his wand out. This was it, he thought. He had gone and ruined everything, and would be punished. Draco truly hated himself. Harry made the bread and the stain it had created vanish.  
“There,” he said, “Good as new.” He came over to Draco and ever so gently, taking him by the elbows, helped him up.  
“Have you eaten?” He asked gently. Draco couldn’t bear being looked at with care, with concern. Harry stood before him, holding his elbows.  
Draco thought of the few bites of toast he had had, and his glass of juice. “Yes, thank you sir.” He said.  
Harry winced. “It’s just Harry. Did you want to change? You don’t have to. We’re going to see a mediwitch today, the very best. You’ll remember Pomfrey.”  
***  
Draco had remained in the clothes he had because he didn’t have much to change into. They had climbed into an expensive, black car with black leather interiors. It had been surrounded by security – witches and wizards in dark glasses and robes with high collars.  
“I don’t normally get a private car,” Harry motioned next to Draco. He seemed embarrassed. Draco sat as close as he could to the door while wearing a seatbelt, his body closely compacted and his hands clasped. He felt sick with nerves. Actually, he always felt sick. Oh to have been left in that wonderful room with the jam and the fresh, buttered bread and the soft bed… But he knew he had no right to anything. Hopefully wherever he was going, he wouldn’t be hurt.  
“Potter,” Pomfrey greeted outside the ward they were going to be seen in. Harry and Draco were visiting her private practice. Harry felt angry at the difference between the kind of healthcare he could buy for Draco and the kind that Draco had been receiving. He nodded at Pomfrey and chaperoned Draco inside, trying not to touch and therefore upset Draco. Draco noted that his security were standing still as statues.  
They followed Pomfrey down a winding wooden hallway that looked like it belonged in a boarding school.  
“What seems to be the problem?” Poppy said, as they sat down. For all of his years at Hogwarts, Harry had never appreciated quite how accomplished Poppy was. In hindsight it made sense; Dumbledore would have wanted nothing else for his pupils/interests.  
“Hello, well, Draco Malfoy here needs a full diagnostic. And treatment.”  
Poppy’s thin eyebrows had shot up past her green-glass spectacles. A few little silver things whirled on her desk.  
“This is Draco Malfoy?” All Poppy saw was an emaciated, young, possibly female person, who clearly seemed agitated.  
“Yes.”  
“What…how did you come into his acquaintance again Mr Potter, if you don’t mind me asking? Why is it that you’re helping him?”  
“It’s not that I mind telling you but I don’t think it’s important now. I could send you a letter.”  
“I don’t mean to say that you shouldn’t help him Potter,” Pomfrey said, a little red, I’m not one of the zelous left.”  
“Yes, yes don’t worry I know.” Harry didn’t want to talk about politics, he just wanted what he had come here for. It wasn’t fair to keep Draco waiting in the state that he was in, and people behaved so strangely, were so obsessed with money and fame, that Harry couldn’t get any sense out of them, and liked being inside his house as a result rather than outside it.  
“Yes, very well. And, potter, I, uh, I will send you a bill, I mean, you’re an old acquaintance and of course everyone’s much obliged to you-”  
“Yes! That’s fine. I have some gold on me and some more in the car. I’ll be more than happy to pay you after Draco’s treatment.”  
“Very well Potter,” Pomfrey said as she stood and slipped into the persona of someone who was very confident about their trade, and not confident about anything else.  
“If Mr Malfoy would follow me behind this curtain.”  
Draco’s little movements of nervousness became more pronounced and he looked at Harry pleadingly.  
“Draco, you have to be treated. You’re hurt. I wouldn’t make you come here if I didn’t think it was for a good reason.”  
Draco’s gaze shifted and he stared at nothing with wide eyes, as if he thought all hope was lost.  
“I could come with you for support? Make sure it’s all ok? Draco, stand up.” Draco rose from his chair, and they went behind the curtain to the examination bed. “Draco, lie down.” Harry said. He felt guilty at ordering Draco about when he knew that Draco had some sort of problem where he couldn’t disobey, but it was for his own good. He tried not to think about the fact that Draco was only obeying because he thought that if he didn’t listen, he would be badly hurt.  
“Let’s all just calm down,” Pomfrey said. “Potter, behind me. Right.” She held her wand so lightly in her hand, and slowly moved it up and down Draco’s body. A quill in the corner began to write the words she spoke.  
“Grossly underweight, possibly anorexia? A lot of muscle wastage. Loss of bone density. Acutely shocked nervous system due to repeated crucio I suspect, category red. Magical core almost depleted. Bones broken and re-healed so much…powdered bones, category red. Especially feet, category red. Organs slightly compacted due to…er…uh…presence of fully functioning female reproductive organs alongside male organs. Herpes. Syphillis. Several illnesses present suspicious of human/werewolf unprotected intercourse.” The pen stopped writing. Harry’s jaw had dropped. Reproductive female organs?  
“Now Mr Malfoy I’m going to need you to remove all of your clothes. Draco looked up at them both pleadingly.  
“Draco,” Harry said. Draco lifted his hands, but these were trembling so badly that he couldn’t have removed anything even if he were trying.  
Pomfrey muttered something under her breath and vanished all of Draco’s clothes with a movement of her wand. Draco’s hands were frozen in motion. His whole body seemed frozen. Harry gasped at the scars painted all over Draco’s body. They were long, and looked as if they had been deep. The last time he had seen Draco naked, Draco hadn’t had a mark on him. Harry had made sure of that.  
“Magical scars resurface without the full course of treatment,” Pomfrey said grimly, at Harry’s expression. “Let me guess, they only trained you to level-not-good-enough. No healers on the ground, the people I could have saved-” She took in a rattled breath and carried on, “Scar treatment, magic present.” The quill wrote that down too.  
“Now Mr Malfoy. Draw your legs up to yourself and then let them fall to either side of you.”  
That was when Draco began to cry. He didn’t make any sound, but plentiful tears streamed down his face. Harry felt so much sympathy for him, felt that he looked so pitiful, and then considered that Draco probably didn’t want to be pitied. Harry wouldn’t have wanted to have been. He couldn’t imagine being in Draco’s situation. How did Draco carry on?  
Harry was mesmerised by the perfect slit behind Draco’s male parts. His mouth was dry. He couldn’t believe he was getting away with actually witnessing something so transfixing to him. He wanted to hug Draco, hold him, tell him he was unique…but what was wrong with him? Did he have feelings towards Draco Malfoy? No, he decided. For some strange reason, probably deprivation, he lusted after him. He could admit this in some dark corner of his mind that he wouldn’t ever want anyone to see. But he wasn’t going to let his disturbing lust stop him from helping Draco. How could he be attracted to such a broken human anyhow?  
Pomfrey had put a rubber glove on and was crooking Malfoy’s lips open, and Harry left to sit down. It was either that or have a heart attack.  
Harry had this awful, sickening feeling of guilt like a stone inside his gut over what he had just thought of Draco. He wished he hadn’t thought it. He would supress it with all he had.  
“Bad case of thrush. Internal wounds. Forced entry? Forced object entry? Both orifices-”  
“I’m going to wait outside!” Harry said in a panicked voice. The air seemed a little cooler in the hall.  
***  
Draco had cried silently all the way back to Grimmauld. There, he had only drunk some water and eaten half a slice of buttered bread. He hadn’t lifted his head since he’d seen Pomfrey, and had taken to clutching at his elbows, alternating between one and both.  
“Thank you for the food,” Draco said, again not looking up. His voice sounded dead and automatic. It made Harry think for some reason of listening to Cedric’s answerphone message after he had died. Draco’s voice creeped him out, it would have seemed more wholesome had he not spoken. “May I be excused sir?”  
“Yeah Draco,” Harry sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You don’t need to ask my permission. And don’t call me sir.”  
Draco dragged himself up, slowly, slowly, and then went up the stairs. Underneath the covers, with even his head submerged, Draco considered that Harry must have wanted his new play thing inspected before he was used. And just as well, Draco was damaged and diseased. He hated waiting to be used or tossed out, which was better. He wished it would just happen quickly. Why wouldn’t life put him out of his misery? If he was turned out he could curl up somewhere and die. For now, he would practice in this bed. Here he felt he didn’t exist, and so his existence wasn’t troubling anyone or himself.  
***  
“Take care of these,” Harry said, throwing the large bag of potions, muggle medicines and cross over concoctions to Kreacher, who caught them impressively. "Read the instructions, keep them, memorise them, dispense them, make sure nothing clashes, you know what to do. You,” He said, turning to Dobby, “Keep an eye on him. A thorough one. I’m going flying. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”  
Harry almost ran out of his own back door to the garden, kicked, and watched the world fall away. In the clouds, he was at peace.


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A note on chapters: chapters is a loose terms. Baisically, the numbered sections within the actual stories were initially intended to be chapters, as I personally favour short chapters. But that hasn't necessarily worked so well. Still, I started doing something, so I shall continue. If anything, the numbered sections help me navigate all that text. One of the things about putting writing up as you write it is that it lacks a proper editorial process, so, there will sadly be typos, and chapter length issues that should have been reconsidered. Hope you enjoy! As always please let me know what you think, love your comments :D:D:D:D:D ;)   
> Willow x

PART 3  
9   
It was the day of the Cannons game. Over the past two weeks Draco had alternated between bad and worse. A lot of things seemed to set him off, like Harry forgetting to put on a shirt and close his door while brushing his teeth. He spent most of his time in his room sleeping. Harry wouldn’t say that Draco enjoyed this exactly, what he seemed to feel towards it was a ghost of the idea of enjoyment. Food was brought to Draco and nibbled at. Harry flew a lot. They didn’t actually cross paths too much, but Harry thought that it felt nice to have a guest in his house, nice to have something different to break the mundanity of Grimmauld. And because of the way that Draco was, Harry didn’t have to pretend around him, like he would have around any other guest, even his closest friends.   
So Draco had…was…both man and woman. Well he wasn’t, he was a man in Harry’s eyes. But he had…well. Harry didn’t have anything against it obviously, the idea had been surprising, that was all. Ron had convinced himself that Draco would be gone shortly and that no one would need to think about the time he had stayed with Harry again. Even Harry had let himself be partly fooled by this idea.   
Later that day, Ron and Hermione called. Ron was wrapped up in a bright Cannons scarf, with a novelty Cannons hat, and was holding two little flags, while also holding Hugo’s hand. He looked like the tourists that attended Quidditch games.   
“We all ready?” He said excitedly. Harry was keeping things a lot more sober with some slim jeans, Converse, a vintage Cannon’s t shirt, and a Barbour.   
“Yeah.”  
“Uncle Harry, hold still!” Rose said, skewing his glasses as she painted orange, interlocking Cs on one cheek. “It glitters,” she said with pride.  
“Fantastic.” Harry smiled at her and gave her a hug. “Oh and, Draco’s coming with us.”  
Hermione and Ron both froze. Ron laughed nervously.   
“Harry,” Hermione began as if she was talking to a child. Harry hated being patronised by the people around him, which was what happened these days. No wonder he was reclusive, why would he want to face that sort of attitude? “Draco doesn’t have a ticket.”  
“I think you’ll find he does. And how about not talking to me like I’m an idiot? I swung it.” Harry rarely reprimanded anyone, let alone his friends. He thought that he was an easy going kind of guy, even though others sometimes thought he was a bit intense. But he wouldn’t take being treated like a fool lying down. It grated at his pride.   
Meanwhile Ron and Hermione were both thinking, Harry’s never ‘swung’ anything in his life, and we never thought he would. Harry had never accepted multi-million galleon endorsements, magazine covers or freebies. He had never written a biography or even given his take on the war, which had resulted in people concocting stories that were sometimes more fantastic than the truth, sometimes less, but never the truth itself. And here he was swinging a ticket for Malfoy of all people.   
Upstairs, Draco stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. He felt nauseas from his medication, and tired, always tired. Kreacher had again this morning salved his scars, which he loathed because he had to reveal his body and rubbed his (clothed) limbs to boost circulation. He had then lain with his feet up for 15 minutes, again for circulation and because refusal was out of the question. It was one of those crisp, sunny days, full of blinding early light and anticipation. Kreacher had laid out some black leggings, and a baggy, long-sleeved, orange Chudley Cannons t shirt that reached Draco’s mid-thighs. Draco curled the sleeves over his cold hands. He had soaped his face and combed his hair, and Kreacher had put on some thick woolly socks and his plimsolls for him. They were neatly tied in bows. Kreacher had also left him a navy coat, about the same length as his t shirt, with wool inside it. This he put on too. He didn’t have anything to put in a bag or take with him apart from his cane, which he clutched until his knuckles were white – he assumed they were going somewhere. He was afraid. He was very afraid of being around people.   
Harry burst in then, his hair all over the place, paint on his face and wearing sunglasses. He was holding the hand of a girl with bright red hair and a boy with auburn, sandy hair. The boy came into the room and started bouncing on Draco’s bed. The bed, Draco corrected himself. Nothing was his. How dare he think it?  
“Would you like some paint on your face?” The girl asked.   
“Nah he wouldn’t Rose. Why don’t you two wait outside?”  
“Aw but-”  
“Out.” No one mistook that tone from Harry. Harry approached Draco.  
“Draco,” Harry spoke to Draco in a much softer voice than he did anyone else. “I thought it might be nice if we went to a Quidditch game. You still like Quidditch?”  
Draco didn’t say anything. Harry often asked him these difficult questions about what he liked. Draco didn’t know, Harry’s questions were like some exhausting test Draco was terrified of getting wrong. He only wanted to obey and have time pass with as little difficulty as possible. Harry’s hand brushed his very quickly and seemingly accidentally. That was something that seemed to happen more as well. Draco shuddered. He suppose it was just an indication as to what was coming sooner or later, and was just very grateful that Harry wasn’t violent.   
“Your hands are freezing! Wait,” Harry went to his own room, which was the opposite of where Draco had been sleeping in terms of how messy it was, and began throwing things over his shoulder from a chest of draws, before bringing Draco a pair of black gloves and a black scarf. He put both of these on Draco, gently, gently, and in a lingering way, and Draco couldn’t stop the shivers that rippled through him wave after wave.   
“Uncle Harry,” Hugo whined, shattering whatever had been between them.  
“Yes Hugo?” Harry rolled his eyes.  
“Are we going?” Hugo was stretching the ending of every word, and bobbing about where he stood. Ron had also got him a ginormous novelty hat, which not surprisingly looked appropriate on a child.   
“Yes Hugo.” Harry grinned.   
“Let’s go,” Harry clapped Draco on the shoulder, and the force almost buckled his knees and sent pain all down his spine. If he hadn’t had his cane he would have stumbled. Harry’s eyed immediately filled with concern. “I’m sorry,” he said, smoothing Draco’s shoulder. He hearded them all downstairs.   
“Draco’s sure giving Harry things to do,” Ron grumbled.  
“Maybe it’s better than Harry sitting at home drinking though,” Hermione answered. “He’s getting out more. Remember, he refused the last game?”  
“Said Quidditch just didn’t seem important anymore. From a man who could have gone pro,” Ron acted as if this was the wizarding world’s biggest regret.   
“How are we getting there Uncle Harry?” Hugo asked.   
Harry was holding the children’s’ hands and Draco was following silently. It’s not like he expected or wished anyone to hold his hand. He knew he was invisible. He just…it was hard to be constantly reminded, but he should be used to it. He was too proud. That was why those bad things had happened to him.   
“We’re getting a private car.”  
“You what?” Ron said.  
“Yeah,” Harry grinned, “I swung it.”  
Hermione noted the light in Harry’s eyes, how he seemed a little more free, and mischievous.   
10  
It was true that Draco was fragile and that he was too thin, this Harry could accept. But if you looked closer, and Harry was sure than no one else had, it could be seen that there was a unique, ethereal beauty to him that others didn’t possess. The sense that he gave off was like a unicorn or a Veela. Harry briefly wondered if Draco had Veela blood in him. His skin was very clear and the whitest shade Harry had ever seen. Everyone just looked…bland next to Draco, and non-magical. It was hard to believe that Draco didn’t have any magic for some reason, as he looked so other-worldly. His eyes were a shade that Harry had never come across either, they were perfectly grey, not blue, not green, but grey, a watery grey, like the sea when it rained, or the sky during a storm. Draco had such big, beautiful doe eyes, with thick, white blonde lashes and almost white eye brows. Harry wanted to make more contact with those incredible eyes that proved such a contrast to Draco’s hair and skin colour. In the midst of all of Draco’s paleness, his eyes seemed to root him. His neck was pure and creamy, Harry wondered at its scent, and his jawline was exquisite – defined and uncommon without being masculine. Nothing about Draco could ever be described as common. His hands were very fine, bony and sophisticated. His nose was a perfect slope and his lips were plush and pink and soft looking…  
“Who’s that?” Hugo asked cheerfully about Draco. Ron and Hermione had avoided looking at Draco and had instead made small talk.  
Harry waited for Draco to say something, then realising he wouldn’t answer said, “That’s Draco.”  
Hugo seemed satisfied with this answer, and let Ron quickly pull him back into his seat and distract him.   
Although it was sunny, it was early, and the air bit at them, whipping Draco’s perfectly straight hair about into a storm. The light on Draco’s hair made it look platinum. There was something about Draco’s hair being messy-  
Then, photographers rushed over.  
“To the booth,” Harry bit. “Hermione, take him.” Because of the urgency in Harry’s voice, Hermione knew he needed her, and so took Draco’s hand, noticing him convulse, and helped Draco away for Harry’s sake.  
The organiser of the game and the main commentator came over. “Mr Potter, so glad that you could make it and that you agreed to talk to us! Have you put that spare ticket to good use?”  
“Er, yeah,” Harry smiled.   
“So who’s your bet for the season? I know you’ve been a Cannon’s supporter for a long time now, but which other team would give you a run for your money?”  
“Well I haven’t been following the season much-”  
Three flashbulbs burst in his face, Harry shielded his eyes.   
“And you’re close to Mr Krum-”  
“Well, actually, I wouldn’t say close-”  
“Harry! Harry!” Someone else shouted, “Ever thought of going pro?!”  
That was it. He may have to talk to these people for five minutes because of the extra ticket, but he wasn’t going to let them accost him and make him look like some dazed fool (even though he was kinda dazed – their fault – God, he hated publicity). He grabbed the microphone off the loudest journalist and looked confidently and carelessly into a camera.   
“Listen now, and be so kind as to not interrupt me, school Quidditch doesn’t make one a professional player.”  
“But Mr Potter, if you’ll excuse me, you displayed your talent during the legendary Tri Wizard tournament. Only a handful of people have ever taken part-”   
“Ah,” Harry grinned, “But are legends true?” That he thought, would have been worthy of Dumbledore.   
“Potter! Potter! Your old flame, with the flame coloured hair, transferred to Harpies – do you still support her-”  
“I’ll always support the flame that is Ginny Weasley, irrespective of any circumstances.” He was laughing now. These people were so silly.  
“Harry honey, Which Witch would like to know which witch currently has-”  
“Actually, one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you today was…uh, I’m thinking of doing some charity work,” Harry ran his hand through his hair and the woman from Which Witch actually cooed. Harry rolled his eyes. “So watch this space. It’s a cause I feel passionate about.”  
“So you’re back on the social map Mr Potter-”  
“Thank you,” Harry said firmly, and ignored them to the stairs that led to the booth. Luckily they weren’t allowed any further.   
Everyone was looking at him as he came to sit down.   
“What the hell was that?” Ron finally said. He sounded faint.   
“Oh I just had to chat to them for a bit, y’know, ‘cause I swung the ticket and the car,” Harry kept his eyes on the pitch and tried to downplay what had happened.   
“Uh, hello?! You some kind of socialite now?”  
“Daaaad, shut up!” Hugo said.   
“Ron, the players are coming on.”  
Harry turned to Draco, ran his hand through his hair again, and winked, grinning.   
11  
The game had been easy enough to watch, but Draco had felt sick and a little too warm. He had kept being jolted by the children jumping on the seats. His mind began to drift, neither pleasantly nor unpleasantly.   
Harry was surprised at how much he enjoyed the game, he didn’t realise he has missed Quidditch…and just doing things. It was nice to be out of the house really, to be alive. He wouldn’t have minded a drink or two though. The Cannons hadn’t won, but Ron and Harry hadn’t really minded amidst all their hollering and joviality.   
“Draco,” Harry was nudging him. Draco woke, about half of the people in the tall stadium had left.  
“Oh! I’m sorry!”   
“Hey, it’s ok, just wanted to tell you that we’re going now.” Harry smiled his lopsided smile and Draco remembered that he felt a bit too warm. He couldn’t refuse the hand that was offered, and on gingerly taking it, he was amazed at its power to pull him right out of his seat. It was strong, warm and certain, calloused from all the Quidditch. Harry smiled again, searching Draco’s eyes. So what if Draco made him happy? So what?  
Hermione had said goodbye to Draco on parting, which had surprised everyone. She had also hugged Harry tightly, for a little too long, as if she didn’t know what was going to happen.  
“Hey! Save some of that for me!” Ron joked. “Later mate,” He gave Harry one of his backslaps that made Harry feel like his glasses would fall off.   
Back inside Grimmauld, Draco really didn’t feel like he could eat anything. He felt ill with the imposing, omnipresence of Harry, his smell, the sight of him, his smile, his behaviour, the feel of his firm hands, and Draco didn’t know what to do with these thoughts. He hadn’t planned on thinking or feeling. He thought that thinking and feeling now – which were symptoms of being a valid human – were pointless in him, other than to be some extended torture. But how dare he call it torture, when he had known torture intimately? Guilt thrashed around inside him. He curled up in the centre of his bed underneath the covers and scratched and scratched at his dark mark.  
Harry didn’t wake him the next day, which he slept on and off through, but the next night. Every time Harry woke him Draco felt like Harry was bringing him back to life. His existence was broken up by Harry waking him.  
“Hey,” Harry said. “I realised you’re not eating much, so I was wondering if you’d eat my cooking rather than Dobby’s.” He grinned his fantastic Harry grin. He was holding two plates of what looked like rice and chicken. “Is it ok if I sit here?” Harry asked of the bed. Of course it was. It was his bed, in his house.  
“Y-yes.”   
“Cool. So,” Harry tucked into his food. “How did you like the Quidditch?”  
“It was good, thank you.”  
“Hey eat up.”  
The rice was smoky and had a taste of tomato about it on Draco’s tongue. The chicken was next to carrots, broccoli and cauliflower. It was delicious. It had a personality that Dobby’s cooking just didn’t, even if it wasn’t as technically proficient. Harry was frowning. He was really at a loss as to what to do to get Draco to come out of himself, to stop trying to say what he thought was right, to stop being a zombie. Maybe Harry didn’t know it in words, but Draco was more and more becoming his new task, a new thing for him to fix and get right, but why? Harry didn’t really analyse these things. There were a lot of other people doing that.  
“Did you think maybe you wanted some new clothes? Or anything? I dunno, books or, is there anything you fancy? A particular kind of soap? I just get what I always get in terms of toiletries.”  
Draco was very conscious of being alone here with Harry, and their proximity. As always, he was afraid. He didn’t really want to…make dents in the world as it were. Why have Harry buy him things? Why anything? He either wanted to be dead, or wanted to be as quiet as possible, not doing anything. He didn’t want to burden the world with his presence. His presence was worthless anyway, and he couldn’t bear the thought of things being wasted on him-  
“Draco?”  
“Uh, no thank you.”  
“Oh. Shame.”  
Shame? What did that mean?  
“Only because,” Harry was really smiling widely now, “I had Diagon Alley opened up for one night only. You know, in case you wanted to browse.” Harry laughed. He’d finished all his food, and his tongue licked over his top lip. Draco shivered. “So really, you’d be doing me a favour. C’mon Draco. I’ve gone to all the effort of arranging this.” The last thing Harry wanted to do was make Draco feel indebted, but getting him to come any other way seemed impossible. His manipulation was for a kind reasons but, it felt so Slytherin to Harry. No wonder the sorting hat had considered putting him in Draco’s former house. And what would life had been like had he been closer to Draco then? Harry would have most likely been another man with another life.   
Draco didn’t want to put anyone out, that was the last thing he wanted to do. God, why was everything so difficult? He didn’t know how to be, he didn’t know how to exist from day to day. “Okay.” He whispered.  
“Great!” Harry said. He jumped up off the bed. “Ah, look at that, you’ve only got a bit of food left as well. Eat up. Get dressed. We’re going shopping.” As he got up, Draco heard Harry humming a tune from his room.   
***  
Draco had made his bed, which took a little while due to pain, and changed into some dark grey leggings and a calf length black t shirt. Then he put on his gloves, coat and scarf, and combed his hair around him. Harry knocked on the open door out of politeness in his slim jeans and an old Weird Sisters t shirt. “You look, oh,” Harry coughed, and looked away, a little colour in his cheeks. Draco knew. He looked awful, more than that, positively ghastly. It was hard for some reason to know that Harry thought it too, but then he scolded himself in his mind furiously; of course he should have known that Harry would think he looked awful. It was only the undeniable truth. Draco was just too damn proud for his own good. He still had to feel deflated when Harry thought he looked terrible, he couldn’t just accept his utter worthlessness and move on.   
***  
The night was cool and the sky was indigo rather than black. Draco could see the stars and the big, eerie, calm orb of the moon. He wondered when the last time he had seen the sky at night was. It had been years. It was such a strange shock to see Diagon Alley again, especially with no people and in the night. But Draco supposed it was better to see it this way, rather than in the daytime when it would have been too familiar, and would have broken his heart. It would have only emphasised how irreparably he was changed.  
A woman from UK Vogue had met them at the top of the street. Harry hadn’t even known that there was such a thing as Vogue for wizards.   
“Hi,” she smiled. She seemed confident, but not fake. But appearance could obviously be deceitful. “My name’s Alexandra. It’s so fantastic to meet you. And this must be…”  
She turned to Draco, and held out her hand. Draco shook it shyly.   
“This is Draco.”  
If she recognised the name, she didn’t show it. She didn’t ask what Draco was doing there, or what Harry was doing there for that matter, wanting all the stores open at night. Of course she wouldn’t ask though, she was a professional. As the editor of Vogue, you saw some strange things.   
“I can’t wait for your cover. It’s top secret. We’ve never had a man on the cover before, but we can make an exception for you, obviously. Your comments at the cannons game were interesting by the way. And this is your first ever cover? And this is an exclusive?”  
At Harry’s confirmations she nodded as if she were taking mental notes. His comments at the Cannons game were the least interesting things he had said in his life, he thought.   
“Ok, the rules are this. You browse the stores, and leave the money behind counters with the tags of the things you bought, so owners can note and identify them. None of them think you’ll steal, so don’t,” She laughed, but her eyes hardened. “I convinced them we were all working on good faith. Note, they’ll probably want a little publicity down the line, and we can work a bit of than into our interview, sort of a, ‘Harry’s hot products’ feature. Who do I contact about our interview and shoot? I’m going to need the contact details of your people.”  
“Er, Hermione Granger.” Harry didn’t have any ‘people’. How long was this going to last?  
“All righty. And Mr Potter, Harry, you won’t believe this, but it really is good to meet you. Draco,” she nodded.   
To Draco the boutiques looked beautiful and inviting, like his and Harry’s personal playground to explore. They sort of made him feel how a fresh piece of parchment or a new note book used to. There he went again, feeling and remembering. Harry took his hand, a jolt shot up his arm. They made their way to the first exclusive tailor shop. Draco didn’t have much use for his cane, holding Harry’s hand.   
Draco stood just inside the shop as Harry rummaged through trousers, neat socks in wooden draws, ties, cravats, hats and cashmere jumpers.   
“I’m gonna get some of these jumpers. Hey Draco, what do you fancy?”  
Draco just stood there.   
“Go on, have a look round,” Harry urged. After a few minutes of hesitating, in which Draco worried that he was taking too long, he looked back at Harry, and then picked out some thin-leg black suit trousers, and some grey suit trousers.   
“Great!” Harry said, over encouragingly. He was ready to encourage any small decision that Draco made independently. Again, Draco was aware of their proximity. He leaned on his cane. “I’ll get you the jackets that come with those too. Don’t worry, you don’t have to wear them or anything, I’m not trying to change your idea of how you want to wear them, it’s just in case you go anywhere formal.” Draco looked at him incredulously. Where on earth would he go?  
“Ok, now shirts.”  
Draco picked out a soft blue shirt and a soft white shirt. He didn’t really like any of the stripy ones, they seemed garish.  
“They’re soft…nice,” Harry murmured, close to his ear. Draco felt helpless.   
“Ties?”   
Draco shook his head. He felt dizzy.  
“Socks though,” Harry decided firmly, as if he were suggesting that it would be plainly ridiculous if they didn’t buy socks. Draco got a pack of black socks and a pack of white socks. Harry hurled the most ridiculous socks he could find into his basket. He seemed to be enjoying himself. They were zigzagged and spotty and yellow and a pair even had dragons on them.   
“Underwear! I’m going to buy some silky ones. What do you fancy?”  
Draco looked down, blushing. He felt humiliated that he was here, having a stranger buy underwear for him, something that he couldn’t even do for himself, and he felt so drained from trying to comprehend why Harry was helping him, what he would have to do in return and what would happen when all the help stopped. He worried his bottom lip.  
“Draco,” Harry said softly, standing opposite him and covering Draco’s hands, which held onto his cane for dear life. “We don’t have to buy anything from this bit. Would you like me to go while you choose?”  
Go?! No! Draco thought in alarm, he would alone here at night with no magic-  
“Uh, I’ll take some of these, I mean, if that’s ok-” Draco picked out some deep blue navy boxers. He felt bright red at holding the pants, and his hand shook badly as he held them.   
“Sure,” Harry said. “Get the black ones too if you like. And the grey. And the white…”  
Harry had bought himself a plain black varsity jacket, and some more sunglasses. He got both himself and Draco some soft leather brown brogues made of exquisite leather that looked of the most expensive kind. He spent a lot of time in the book shop, which he apologised for, but it was ok because Draco had sat at the window seat and observed the night. It was beautiful. Harry spent even longer in two Quidditch stores. There had been no window seats. Draco’s feet had ached until he thought he would make a sound, but he managed to stay quiet.   
Florean Fortescue's was lit up in different colours. A note on pink paper in the window said: Happy to stay open for an old friend. Would be happier to see him.   
Harry swallowed. “Ice cream?”   
Draco nodded as Harry seemed to like it when he agreed to things. Harry got three scoops of Brazilian nut crunch in a chocolate dipped cone, which he kept saying was the best flavour, the best flavour. Draco had got one spoon of vanilla. They were sitting in the French seats outside, and it was so nice to rest his body. As usual, Draco had gotten tired too soon. Dawn was breaking and the sky was streaked with pink. Birds cawed from the London rooftops. Around them bags and boxes of every sort were strewn about, and a piece of tissue paper from one of Harry’s made a break for it down the street.  
Harry had been quiet while they ate, thoughtful. He reached over to Draco, slowly, slowly, so as not to alarm him, and brushed some cream from the corner of his mouth. And kept stroking at Draco’s silky skin. Something in Draco ached. He closed his eyes. Harry cupped his cheek, noting how Draco’s face fit in his hand. His hand gave Draco warmth. So this was it, Draco thought. The ice cream had been delicious. Suddenly, Harry dropped his hand, and Draco, what, missed it? He was mixed up, that was for sure. Oh, Harry made him think, Harry made him feel, Harry confused him!  
“Dobby!” Harry suddenly called.  
Dobby appeared with a pop. “Harry Potter sir!”   
“Hey Dobby, how’re you doing? We’re going to need some help getting all this stuff back. And don’t call me sir.”  
11  
Draco had enjoyed himself so, so much. All those years of being locked up and hurt, never did he think he would see the moon again, smell the night and taste ice cream. Just to be outside was such a privilege, just to not be tied up and abused. The bed he slept in was warm and soft and he was able to clean himself with warm, hot water. Oh God, he was lucky, he was lucky. He knew he could never go fully into the world, and he didn’t know if he wanted to. He was scared, he had no magic. That in itself was utterly debilitating and humiliating. And he was so ugly, sick and wretched. But he had a kind master, who seemed like he wasn’t a deviant and was willing to be fair. It was just too tense waiting for Harry to take him, he couldn’t handle the anticipation, it was maddening. Of course Draco was terrified of intimacy. Firstly, he wasn’t worthy of anyone, with the state that he was in and what had been done to him. He especially wasn’t worthy of someone like Harry. Secondly…he wasn’t any good at it, whatever being good at it was. Thirdly, he was so afraid of being hurt. And finally, he didn’t think he liked intimacy. Well, what he liked didn’t matter. He still for the life of him couldn’t understand why Harry would ever want to be involved with him, and how he was able to touch him in the little ways that he had without being disgusted. Draco knew what he had to do. He didn’t want to anger Harry by keeping him waiting.   
Trembling horribly, he picked out the long, comfortable dressing gown from a shopping bag. He slowly removed his clothes, and biting his lip, finally shucked off his briefs. He had goose bumps, and quickly put on the dressing gown and took up his cane. He wiped his tears, it would not do to be seen crying. He looked at his cane. It was superbly designed, another testament of Harry’s generosity. Harry, as noble as he was, had thought that he had to treat a whore well and give it gifts and he must have thought that it was vulgar to persuade Draco. He was counting on Draco confirming knowing what he was to both of them, and going to Harry. Draco’s legs seemed like lead. He kept swallowing. He went into Harry’s room.   
Harry’s window was open and moonlight shone through. He was sprawled on his bed without covers. His t shirt was bunched up. He looked so beautiful, Draco thought. This time it was he who woke Harry.  
Harry looked at him, confused. “Draco? That you? Are you ok? What time is it?” Harry rubbed his eye with one hand. “Did you have a bad dream? I have those.” Draco was paralysed. “Draco?”   
He undid the belt on his gown, and let it fall to the floor. Harry became fully awake, and his eyes shot as far open as they could. Draco bowed his head, and began to cry, even though he had been trying not to. He was shaking like a leaf. His chest hunched in on itself, and his back hunched. He hated himself. He squeezed his legs together, and tried to cover himself with one hand, while the other clutched onto the cane for support.   
Again Harry felt that looking at Draco was a gift. It was such a pleasure. He felt moved at the gorgeous, dangerously thin, exposed creature in his room. Draco looked so vulnerable. As he got up to hold Draco as tightly as he could, he thought that Draco’s nakedness was emphasised by him being clothed. Draco’s shaking shook even Harry. Harry thought that if he rejected Draco now for his own good, it would be the final straw to break him, and then he would never have any confidence. Harry lay Draco down in the bed, and stroked his face, gently and fully. Draco whimpered. It was such a pleasure to stroke and stroke Draco, fully, all over his body, to explore him. Harry couldn’t tire of touching him. He ran his hands over Draco, taking his time, savouring the shape of Draco’s body. First his arms all the way to Draco’s hands, then all over Draco’s chest. Harry covered as much area as he could. Touching Draco like this felt natural, as if he were giving comfort to both of them. He ran his hands over Draco’s hips, and Draco gasped – a raw sound which went straight to Harry’s groin. Harry leaned over Draco and looked into his big eyes.   
“Breathe,” He whispered to Draco. And kissed him, slowly, for a long time, savouring the taste. They kissed for what seemed like hours. Harry would break the kiss to kiss Draco’s neck and jaw, while Draco moaned. Draco’s mouth was so soft and delicious. Harry realised that this is what he had wanted from Draco all along. As they kissed, Harry ran his hand through Draco’s hair.  
Harry knew exactly what he was going to do. He wouldn’t have intercourse with Draco, because he didn’t know how injured Draco was and didn’t want to hurt him. Also, they didn’t have to do that straight away, they could take their time. Instead, he positioned himself between Draco’s legs. Draco didn’t know what was going on before Harry took him into his mouth expertly, and sucked. And sucked. Draco moaned a long, hungry moan. Harry massaged his ball as he sucked efficiently, swallowing Draco’s slick, throbbing cock whole again and again. He hadn’t wanted to tease Draco. He wanted to give him pure pleasure. Draco couldn’t close his legs, and with a sob and a great shuddering of his hips, he came in Harry’s mouth. Harry relished Draco’s taste, and swallowed, but kept sucking until Draco was fully through. He gently then moved his body up so he was straddling Draco’s neck, without putting any pressure on him of course, and eased his own aching cock into Draco’s warm mouth after sliding down his trousers. Even that seemed enough to bring Harry to the edge. Never mind his years of experience, Draco drove him absolutely wild. Harry was very large in Draco’s mouth and down his throat, and Draco couldn’t help but gag. Again, he couldn’t move much. He sucked as deeply as he could, desperate to do well. So what if he enjoyed this? This was the one place where he could do well. And he wanted to make Harry happy, for Harry to enjoy himself, for Harry to smile his lop sided grin and hold Draco tightly again. Harry’s cock in his mouth seemed to lessen the painful void inside Draco. It would be painful again soon, more so, but for now he had Harry. Harry was shuddering now, and Draco knew he was close. Draco closed his eyes, his nose and face burrowed in Harry’s thick pubic hair, and breathed Harry in, surrounded by him. And he swallowed and swallowed Harry’s thick seed.   
When Draco thought that Harry was asleep he curled on his side. He felt like a piece of debris after a storm. Tomorrow he would be…emotional.   
“Hey,” Harry said, sleepy but firm. He pulled Draco over to him and held him to his chest. He lifted Draco’s chin and kissed him with that mouth that had just drunk Draco, and then kissed the top of his head.  
“Feel Draco, don’t be afraid,” Harry said.  
12  
Harry walked into Alexandra’s living room. It was actually nice enough, in a fashion editor kind of way. There were lots of table top books and photography on walls and knickknacks, but then there was also a lot of white. Harry imagined that every single item in the room had been thoroughly considered individually, and as a result that’s how you thought of the place; bit by bit, not as a whole.   
“Mr Potter,” Alexandra shook his hand warmly. “I don’t invite everyone to my home, you know.” She had a round, Neville kind of face. Neither pretty not ugly. She just looked kind of healthy and normal. Harry sat down on a couch.   
“Anything you don’t want me to print, don’t tell me,” Alexandra said seriously, as if there was no way she couldn’t print something she was told. She seemed to be warning Harry, no, almost pleading, for his own sake. Harry swallowed. He really did hate press. Then she smiled again, as if the moment hadn’t existed. “So, how are you?!”  
“Swell,” Harry smiled.  
“Been up to much lately? Seen any films? Read any books?”   
“Not really, just that Cannons game. I read all the time though, all sorts of things. I like reading. How much I take in is another matter.”  
“Any particular titles?”  
Harry got the impression that particular names and titles and brands were going to be very important. He rolled his eyes. “Sure. Well, I read ‘The Philosophy of Time Travel’ by Roberta Sparrow. And this anonymous book, pretty old and battered actually, pure gibberish all the way through, about stone angels, written, uh, by a madman.” Harry had deliberately picked out and unknown book by an anonymous author just to do his little bit in rebelling against the unspoken consumerism he could feel himself being coerced into.   
“Interesting. And why are you reading such things? They’re pretty specific. If you don’t mind me saying, your life is at least portrayed as being very mythic. Is there anything you’re involved with that requires such material, or are you just drawn to it?”  
“Well, those are very vague questions. Yeah, I’m ‘working’ on stuff in the sense that I’m living, I’m interested in things. Like I said, I like reading.” Harry thought he was being such a bore, and besides, he was an average kinda guy that just liked whiskey and Quidditch and above all his friends, and he was absolutely fine with that. “I read a lot of muggle stuff as well, more muggle stuff actually. I read a lot of Stephen King, you might have heard of him. It’s interesting to see how tiny seeds of magic inform muggle fiction. You could correlate that.” He thought he’d plug muggle works as well, as a big fuck you to all conservative muggle haters out there. If who he was had any weight, he wanted to throw that all behind supporting muggle-wizard equality.  
“They do Mr Potter. It’s called muggle studies. King is okay, but it’s the same American story over and over isn’t it? You might be interested to know that I also edit muggle UK Vogue.”  
Harry cocked his head with a grin, genuinely impressed, and Alexandra grinned back. They were testing each other out.  
“You’ve had a lifetime to talk to the press. You never have, bar once, when you were still very young, to Skeeter, of all people. Many would have been tempted to tell their story, not for vanity, for noble reasons, and even give the proceeds to charity. What I want to know is, why now? What’s changed to make you have to do this?”  
She knows, Harry thought. “Charity work,” He said smoothly. He wasn’t lying. “What you give me from this I’ll give to hospitals to rehabilitate victims, all victims, beyond the pitiful resources offered now, for as long as victims need.”  
“Well Mr Potter, you’ll need a few more covers for that.”  
Oh yeah, Harry thought. He would have to sit down and come up with a charity plan sometime.   
“You hate the press. What’s come into your life enough to make you put up with it?”  
“I think I just answered that question.”  
Alexandra looked at him as if to say, come on now. “How would you describe your personal style?”  
“Pfff,” Harry picked at a string on the white couch that Alexandra would no doubt clip later. “I wouldn’t say I have a personal style. My style is, ‘I don’t care about style’. I don’t think it’s important. Sorry Vogue,” He grinned.   
“But this is a sort of style,” Alexandra said, indicating with a pen up and down Harry. “The thin jeans, the band shirts, the messy hair, the ray bans. Young wizards copy this look Mr Potter, let’s not pretend you haven’t noticed. I think it would be more fitting to call it, ‘indie band’s lead singer’.”  
“True, I’ll admit it’s a kind of style, if we’re going to always look out for anything that could potentially be ‘style’, whatever that is, even if it’s a bin bag. I’m not an idiot. I couldn’t care less about current fashions but sure, I notice as much as the next man if someone has such a unique personality that it extends to the way they dress, or if it’s just so them that it’s brilliant,” he thought of Ron in his Weasley jumpers and Luna in beads and patches, “Or if it’s just damn sexy or has great details or is well made. I fully appreciate that someone working with leather all day is a master of a craft, but personally, it’s the art I appreciate least.”  
“Can you give an example to our readers of when a woman wore something that was ‘just so them it was brilliant’?”  
“Sure,” Harry laughed, “My friend Luna Lovegood wears radishes as earrings. She runs The Quibbler, you should check it out.”   
Subscriptions to The Quibbler had sky rocketed since Harry’s interview that was featured in it, all those years ago. To Alexandra Harry was intelligent, warm, easy going, smiled and laughed easily, and had this aura of power about him that he didn’t need to force and probably wasn’t aware of. But there was something elsewhere about him, as if he were thinking about something or, someone. Oh, and he was as gorgeous in real life, more so. The way he ran his hand through is hair and grinned lopsidedly were just the sort of thing she would sell to readers. That and his bright, twinkling eyes.   
“How’s your love life Harry?”  
“Fantastic Alexandra,” Harry replied without a beat.  
“Care to share?”  
“Nope.”  
“It must have been hard, breaking up with Ginny Weasley, now seeker of Hollyhead Harpies, in the glare of the media.”  
“It must have been.”  
“Hm. Did you enjoy your shoot? The photos are fantastic, you look like you’re having fun. It was a great idea to do it outdoors, and you really do suit laughing Harry. The camera’s captured your mischeviousness. Anyone that looks at those photos is going to think that you’re looking at them. They’re coy, they’re fun, they’re real! Who were you thinking about?”  
“You.”  
“Hm. Any holiday’s planned?”  
“Actually yeah. For a little while I’ve been thinking of Paris, the whole tourist thing. But at night. Also, some really hot, deserted beaches.”  
“Favourite shop in Diagon Alley?”  
“Florean Fortescue.”  
“For clothes, Harry.”  
“I prefer Saville Row.” Harry winked. The interview was over. Alexadra sighed, and shook his hand. Harry hadn’t seen any recording equipment, but he was certain there had been some around. He was just desperate to get back to Draco, who had been very, very emotional. Had Harry been wrong in accepting his attentions that night?  
“Harry, I won’t print any names, in the hope that you’ll talk to us again if nothing anything else. But if you’re as incautious as you were with me with any other editor, everyone’ll know about him.”  
Something sank inside Harry, but he didn’t show it. “You could be useful,” he said honestly. Hopefully, that comment would make her stick to her word. And she really might be. Wow, he really was kinda Slytherin. Harry shook his head, and hurried back to Draco.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your comments, it's really appreciated, may not reply to all but am motivated to carry on by every single one! My dream is, once this story is finished, to go through it all and edit, edit, edit!!!

Chapter 4  
Sometimes Draco seemed better than before he and Harry had become intimate; he seemed willing to feel more, and slightly less afraid. At other times he was a lot worse; raving, screaming in his sleep, on his knees saying that he couldn’t do it couldn’t do it couldn’t do it. These times were frightening for Harry, and he didn’t know if he could weather them. He was good at grand gestures and smoothing things over but he didn’t know what to tell Draco at these times that wasn’t a lie. Yes, life could be incomprehensibly awful. No, there wasn’t always something you could do about it. In helping Draco Harry was trying to cure his past while also not remembering it. You never got used to suffering, Harry thought grimly. Harry didn’t have much time left to give more thought to the fact that he was sexually and romantically involved with Draco, while trying to be of use to Draco without getting lost himself, coping with new found attention and fending of increasingly urgent enquires from friends. If he could have seen himself now in school…  
One rather stilted afternoon in which the air seemed stagnant Harry was dozing in his bed, his door open as Draco’s was (he set his own schedule, which meant that he could and did sleep in the day a lot of the time) Harry heard a shrill, high pitched scream from Draco’s room. Without thinking of anything – and how too comfortable it was to fall into that instinctual, action mode – Harry bolted to Draco’s room. Draco wasn’t in his room, but Harry blew the bathroom door open, and was horrified at the sight that met his eyes. It was like some sort of sick flashback to his sixth year at Hogwarts, and this sudden familiarity with what should be firmly in the past threatened to unbalance him for a moment. Then, he forced himself to focus on reality, which was what Draco needed.  
Draco was half slumped against a bathroom wall, a bloodied box of razor blades next to him, with razor blades scattered around him. There were deep cuts all over his arms, his legs, and his stomach. Draco had removed his clothes, that was how badly he had wanted to hurt himself. But he had wanted you badly enough to do the same, Harry thought. Harry wondered why Draco had screamed and then saw it; a rapidly healing scar along the dark mark. He was well versed in its law: it couldn’t be removed or destroyed, period, and any attempt to do so would cause extreme pain. Harry’s heart sank in absolute sympathy. Draco hadn’t screamed when inflicting all his other cuts. There were disturbing hand marks of blood up the walls, on the edge of the bathtub and on the long, old mirror.   
Harry got his wand out, and without a word, because frankly there really were none, began healing every one of Draco’s scars. In all of this gruesomeness Harry had rightfully not been able to concentrate on the fact that Draco was undressed – something which would have awed him and made him feel gentle. Now, Harry intimately ran his wand along Draco’s wounds, wanting then to absorb as much of the magic that he was desperately trying to funnel into Draco, and for some reason it was a sensual experience. Harry held Draco around the shoulders for support. Draco’s eyes had gone blank. He was thinking that he wasn’t even able to succeed in hurting himself.  
“I’m nothing,” Draco whispered. “I’m nothing.” He got louder. “I’m nothing I’m nothing I’m nothing!” He shouted. “I’m nothing!” He screamed. He rolled over, picked up a razor blade and began stabbing himself in one cheek, then the other, deeply and repetitively. “I’m nothing! I’m nothing!”  
“Draco!” Harry also screamed. Here they were, scrabbling in blood and desperation on the bathroom floor. “Accio razor blades!” Harry bellowed, pointing into the bloodied box, and all the blades flew into the box, which he promptly transfigured into feathers. He hadn’t really been thinking of feathers per se, he just wanted them to stop being harmful and that’s what they’d become; a load of colourful feathers bursting out of the box. It looked like a cheap trick from a muggle who pretended to be a magician at a children’s birthday party.   
Again Harry picked Draco up like a doll, and he was as limp as one, and began healing him, intimately, whispering little tweaks of vitamins and platelets and other minor adjustments he’d learned to make to spells. Draco’s scars we now closed. They looked red and angry. They would be gone by morning. As Harry held Draco’s face he thought that he would take him even like this, with red horizontal scars across his face, because he still was, and always would be beautiful. He looked like he was part of some exotic, unearthly tribe, but then Harry reprimanded himself for romanticising Draco’s pain.  
Harry picked Draco up and put him in the bath, making sure that he looked comfortable. Draco, in his small, revealing underpants, covered in goose flesh and scars and crusted blood, looked at nothing, like all of the life force had gone out of him while he was still alive. He burned from humiliation at being found like this, at doing this in the first place, to a point where he felt he cared for nothing at all; his emotions were a natural disaster happening on a different island he was watching from another cold, silent island.   
Harry filled the tub with warm water to halfway and moved the shower head over the crusted blood on each of Draco’s limbs. Sometimes, things had to be done the muggle way. He felt like he were intruding, washing Draco this way, and saw that Draco’s stomach was still so hollow, and that all of his ribs showed, along with his hips, which Harry didn’t want to look at for too long, for fear of inappropriate arousal. Instead he looked at Draco’s beautiful, tortured, dainty feet.   
“You’re not nothing,” Harry said shyly, almost to himself. “Few people could have survived what you did. And it’s ok to feel pain, you’re entitled to your pain more than anyone. Keep surviving Draco. You’re something to me. You’re…important to me. You’ve changed me. I’ve started to do things. Before you came here I was drinking a lot. I drank and I slept and I walked around this house and I couldn’t find good enough reasons to leave it often enough. Stay for me.” Harry bit his lip, before he would carry on stupidly. He had got that all wrong. He did keep saying he was no good at this sort of thing. The dark mark looked freshly inked, and Harry loathed it, loathed it and began to understand the feeling of wanting to obliterate that awful, hateful thing from your body, let alone everything it must remind Draco of…  
Finally, Draco was clean. Harry fished him out, sat him on the lid of the toilet seat and put a big, white fluffy towel around his shoulders.   
“Er, these are soaked,” He said of Draco’s pants. He carefully removed them and blushing furiously, spelled clean and dry that personal area of Draco. God, how he wanted to take Draco into his mouth. He seemingly always wanted to take Draco into his mouth, never mind the time or place. Draco’s foreskin, which just showed the tip of Draco’s cock, was tempting him tantalisingly. Harry breathed out heavily, and carried Draco to the bed, where he gently lay him down and dressed him.  
“Do you want me to stay or go?” Harry asked.  
“Please stay,” Came the whisper. Harry’s heart flew. He climbed in next to Draco, and spooned him tight from behind, his hand covering Draco’s dark mark. Never mind his awkward errection, his heart was content.  
***  
That night, Harry dreamt of lilies. Lilies bloomed all around him, everywhere he looked. They were vines of lilies running up every surface and each time a lily opened it did so with an unbelievably strong, sweet, exquisite smell. The seeds inside them snowed their cinnamon-like pollen down on him. Underneath his feet were dried lily petals, but the lilies that bloomed now were too large, were they really the size of Harry’s head, no wait, Harry’s body? His hand burned as he touched the largest lily he could see, which trembled precariously with its own size, and with a surprised cry, Harry woke. His hand on Draco burned, and as he removed it he noticed it: a tattoo of many lilies covered Draco’s arm from his wrist to just above his elbow like a sleeve. But this tattoo looked as if it were alive, though it were inked in black, it seemed to tremble as if affected by motion when Harry carefully moved Draco’s arm to inspect it. What on earth was going on? Harry noticed that Draco was awake too, and was looking at his own arm in Harry’s hand with clear eyes.   
“It’s gone,” Draco said softly, in disbelief.  
“Yeah…”  
“Thank you,” Draco smiled a small smile. And Harry wouldn’t have been able to believe that Draco could be any more beautiful. The dawn really felt like the dawn.  
“I don’t know what I did, if anything. I was just dreaming of lilies…”  
Draco looked at him for a moment, and Harry considered how intelligent this man would be if his mind weren’t clouded by pain and fear. Then again, the world’s population would suddenly increase in intelligence if these factors didn’t hold people back.  
“You are a very powerful wizard,” Draco said finally. He cautiously snuggled up to Harry’s chest, seeming the calmest Harry had ever seen him. The lilies on his arm, all entwined by a single vine, (he knew lilies didn’t come on vines but these ones apparently did) seemed to sway peacefully, half-bloomed. Harry didn’t feel uncomfortable and desperate to change the subject on hearing this from Draco, like he did with everyone else.  
He held Draco tight to himself, trying to communicate the things he would be useless at saying. Yes, he felt it too, he wanted Draco, he wanted this to work out, he was so happy, so happy Draco seemed happier.  
***  
“Draco, you’ve been here a month. You’ve only been out a few times, and that’s been with me. Do you want to go out by yourself?”  
“No,” Draco immediately answered fearfully, as if he were scared Harry would make him. He was sat at the kitchen table, clutching a cup of tea he had yet to sip at.  
“Ah. It’s ok, I won’t make you. Just wondering.”   
They settled into their silence, like they always seemed to do. Harry thought of it as being like dust settling.   
“We have an appointment today,” Harry remembered. “At 3, with Pomfrey. About your progress.” Harry was rubbing his face like he was just so tired.  
Draco didn’t say anything. Oh, those humiliating visits to that unbearably familiar woman! Why did Harry bother?   
Harry felt like he was with Draco, but not with Draco. Draco gave him nothing, conversation wise, personality wise. He was just desperate to be whatever Harry wanted him to be, and Harry was desperate for him to be the opposite! Very recently Harry had thought, am I with this creature because I’m hoping him to turn into the other man I knew? The one who looked at me with a disdain that gave me a strange kick and didn’t give me any special circumstances and made me feel like there was something to compete for, made me feel normal…that’s who Draco used to be to him.  
“I reckon at school, well, I don’t know about you, but for me with you, it was like pulling pigtails you know?” Draco looked at Harry with his big, glass-like eyes. “There was just something about you that I couldn’t quit, couldn’t leave alone, on some other level. Maybe that’s what kept attracting you and what kept making the explosions happen. I just got this crazy kick out of it. I remember being crushed every time at how incredibly spiteful, how precisely cutting you could be, it was always surprising. It was like I had some other certain belief that that’s not how you had to be. I got kind of obsessed with you in sixth year. I remember being so, so ashamed that I thought you were so good looking, but such a dick. I tried to push it down so much, but then I also had this hope that I held out for you. It was hard to let that hope go, I just felt like I didn’t want to. Then I didn’t see you in years. All that time you were…we couldn’t get close to the manor, not with him there…I tried everything, we all did…”  
Harry looked into his tea. He had revealed so much of his feelings. Now it was him that felt vulnerable in front of Draco. Part of him was expecting that old Draco to leap out and mock him, and part of him wanted that to happen. And what was Draco to make of all of these things that Harry was saying? What was he supposed to do? He knew that he was all of the bad things that Harry had mentioned, that was a given. But Harry had been attracted to him at school, just like Draco had been to Harry? It was his attraction to Harry, that he wouldn’t have admitted even to himself that had make him just so acidic. He couldn’t bear what he was then, how he felt. He felt Harry was some sort of thorn in his side; not only did he have to show Draco up all of the time and thwart him in every way, Draco also had to…to…love him in some desperate way, and hate him for it. That Draco hadn’t been a good enough man to know what to do with love, he was willing to let it turn to hate, was even relieved when it did. And Harry had just been so sickeningly open, it was another thing to feel jealous of and hate…  
All of these emotions came flooding back to Draco as he sat there. Harry was an expert at making him feel when he really, really didn’t want to. But then he always had been… Maybe that was why he and Weasley had always hated each other. Apart from naturally repulsing each other in every way and absolutely hating what the other stood for, they were in some sort of partially conscious war over Harry, and Draco could feel himself losing at every turn, and he had hated to lose.  
“I used to hate to lose,” Draco whispered softly. Harry’s face broke into a beautiful, full grin. He drained his tea in one and set his mug on the side, flinging the teabag into the bin that he had been able to open wordlessly and without a wand. That, Draco was certain, was a very rare talent. Harry Potter was a very powerful wizard indeed.   
“The Weasleys are having some sort of big get together this evening, a barbeque. We should go, uh, together, if you want, if that’s ok. They’re good people. They’ll be all right with you, don’t worry about the past. And hey, I’ll never let anything happen to you.” Harry leaned over Draco as he said that, looking seriously into his eyes and kissing him on the forehead. Draco gulped.   
“So are we together Draco?” Harry asked. Draco could sense that he needed an answer, Harry sounded serious. Together…together implied that they were equals, and that they certainly weren’t. But he was Harry’s, and what was more, he wanted to be Harry’s. How strange it was to want, Draco didn’t want to feel anything. He wanted Harry for security, and because Harry provided circumstances beyond anything he could have every hoped for, but he also just wanted Harry. He always had, he realised. Only how sad it was to come to him like this, like a ghost, broken, than at his prime. Intimacy still sent him into atrocious panic and that was exhausting and difficult to recover from. And it would only be a matter of time before they would have intercourse. Draco couldn’t bear the thought. Harry was still waiting for an answer.  
“I’m yours.” Draco said, meeting Harry’s eyes.  
“No.” Harry was frustrated. “Are we together? Equals? Lovers? I don’t want you as a possession Draco.”  
“What happens if I set myself up for this equality, only for you to get bored of me? What will happen to me then? Will I be sold? Will I be left to fend for myself? I have nothing, I am nothing.”  
“You’re not nothing! And I won’t get bored Draco, I’ve wanted you for about a lifetime,” Harry laughed bitterly and ran a hand through his hair. “Were we to split up, which we wouldn’t, I would provide for you regardless. I’m going to go to Gringotts and get something official written up since you obviously don’t believe me! And do you really think I’d sell you? Thanks a lot Draco.”  
“How would I know what someone would do to me? My own parents beat me for long as I remember. Then I was given to their master for my failure and my life became rape and torture. I’ve never been happy. I kept waiting, imagining something else, trying to tell myself that life was hard but one day I’d have something, but the truth is I’ve never been happy. Except in moments,” Draco swallowed and felt heat in his face, “when, w-when we hold each other and I focus just on sensation. Then maybe I sleep easily. But everything’ll be worse when I lose even that. I know I’m Syltherin, I’m cold hearted, I’m cold blooded, I’m sneaky, I’m a snake, everyone loathes me and I couldn’t care less. But I’m a human, and I needed a bit of kindness-”  
Draco broken down in awful sounding sobs, and Harry rather miraculously, probably with the help of his natural magic helping him, picked Draco up and held him, one arm underneath his buttocks, and the other around Draco’s tiny, knobbly back, while Draco cried into his shoulder. He breathed in Draco’s scent that was slightly like Lavender deeply.   
“Listen to me Draco, be happy with me. You can be happy with me, I want you to be happy with me. I want to give you everything you want, and I will. We can be happy together, I’ll make you happy and you make me happy, how about that? You don’t need to worry about things going wrong because they won’t. I’ll go to the bank and get you ever kind of security statement and get it signed by every single goblin there, if that’s what it takes.”  
Draco was conscious of being spread and immobile against Harry’s body. He buried his wet face in Harry’s neck like he had done so many times now, for having nowhere to go. When his body was vulnerable like this and he had no way of hiding or covering himself, he covered himself with Harry, he hid inside Harry’s embrace, because that was all that he could do.   
Harry set Draco down, after giving him a long, soft, sensual kiss in which he really felt and tasted Draco’s soft mouth. Draco couldn’t help moaning. Harry then tilted Draco’s head expertly and kissed Draco’s neck, slowly again, and adoringly. God, Draco made him hungry.  
“Sorry,” Harry said, pulling back. “So Draco, will you be my boyfriend?” Harry grinned.  
“Yes,” Draco smiled shyly.   
***  
“Draco I’ve noticed something else,” Harry said when they were in the back of Harry’s private car again. “You only talk to me. You’ve only talked to me since…”  
Draco said nothing. Then he realised Harry would want a response. “I talk to the elves, a-a bit.”  
“Yes yes, the elves, but you know what I mean. It’s not healthy, it’s not good for you.” Harry always seemed to have some issue to push with Draco, and it was so tiring. If it wasn’t Draco talking it would be something else. It was like as soon as Draco achieved something, Harry couldn’t appreciate it and wait for Draco to get used to it, he had to push another agenda. Harry was trying to help and he wasn’t impatient with Draco, but Draco could sense that he was an impatient man generally, and this put him on edge so. Harry was holding Draco’s knee firmly, and actually it hurt. Since they had made themselves ‘official’ to themselves Harry touched him a lot more, it was like he always needed some contact with Draco. It all tethered Draco, who was desperately trying to keep it together.  
“When I think about talking to other people I just feel like I lose my voice…or I swallow it…it’s as if I hear what they say too late, and when I finally do understand it’s been too long, so I have to rush my answer and then I’m scared I’ll say the wrong thing because o-of i-it.”  
“Talk to my friends tonight,” Harry urged. “They’re kind. And they know all sorts of different people, they won’t judge you.”  
“But Harry, they know what I am.”  
“With me,” Harry said fiercely, looking Draco in the eye and pulling him to his body with his hand. Draco breathed Harry in gratefully. He may be with Harry, but he was nothing in himself. He should just accept this, he thought. But it was hard.  
Dread built up to Pomfrey’s office, and when they were finally there Draco sat down and looked down, at nothing. Harry didn’t seem to make conversation with her either nowadays, it was get in and get out.   
“Mr Potter, can I speak to you in bubble?” Harry had always thought that in bubble was a hilarious way of saying ‘in private’, and wished that it was also said in the muggle world. But he didn’t find it funny now. He just nodded curtly and followed Pomfrey to a side room where they sat at a smaller desk.   
“Now Potter, sorry, Mr Potter, it’s never easy to tell the family of patient’s this but the fact is that it’s got to be done. Mr Malfoy is suffering from numerous, severe illnesses, and his body isn’t even in fighting condition. Many of these problems, such as a person’s nervous system being shocked due to overuse of crucio, don’t have medically proven cures. His bones don’t appear right in x-rays, I’m surprised he doesn’t cry out all the time.”  
Harry thought of Draco holding his pain back, hiding it, and it broke his heart. But he was simply unwilling to accept what Pomfrey was saying. A humming was building in his ears. He had to do something. He had to act.  
“What’s kept him going so far, we, that is to say, the other specialists and I, think is the fact that he has Veela blood from a grandparent. That’s very rare these days, normally the people highlighted as having Veela blood have it from five generations ago, and even that’s extremely rare-”   
“Veela blood? Why?”  
“Well, the ratio of magical humans to non-magical humans, and I must stress, we’re all humans of exactly the same genetic material, is very low, about…put it this way, only about 12% to 13.5% of all humans are magical. What’s more, magic manifests anywhere, and what’s sadly often the case is that a young witch or wizard born to a family of muggles ends up either hurting themselves or others, or is institutionalised. There’s actually no evidence that a wizard married to a muggle is any less likely to have a magical child than two wizards-”  
“Cut the story short. I mean, please.”  
Pomfrey gave him a stern look over her spectacles, and the bubble they were in quivered slightly. It was just like a real bubble, with iridescence slipping around on the surface in beautiful colours.   
“Hrmph, well, if you’ll allow me Mr Potter, wizards were misinformed in their understanding. They wouldn’t simply listen to painstakingly gathered information by professionals, they thought that magic would die out. So the oldest families began to mate with magical creatures when they could find no ‘pure blood’ partners. Soon, marrying Veela became a respected tradition of sorts as it was carried out by the bourgeoisie. And of course they’re beautiful, which helps. It’s made for some interesting medical and magical discoveries-”  
“And Draco?”  
“Ah yes, well, his Veela blood has been traced to his mother’s mother, who was a Veela. But as to Draco, there’s nothing that we can do for him Mr Potter, I’m sorry. His body is surviving on nothing. Personally, it’s not easy for me to say that, I don’t boast when I say that I’m one of the greatest physicians…”   
Pomfrey blathered on. He could see how much it bothered her to not be able to help Draco, not for Draco’s own sake, but for her own. Her identity was based on healing the sick better than any other.  
“So what can I do?” Harry asked.  
“There’s nothing Harry, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. Counselling is all I can suggest. And whether or not you tell Mr Malfoy is your prerogative.”  
“No. No. No! There must be something,” Harry hit is fist against the table. He rooted through his past. What could he do? Draco dying was not an option. Pomfrey was looking at him like he was unattainable – lost in madness. Suddently, the name Flamel came to him. Harry was a last minute man. When all else failed he managed to claw life back against the odds, and it destroyed him every time, because there would be times when he failed, like when Cedric died. And of course, one day everything would end…but Flamel, Flamel…  
“I have a philosopher’s stone,” Harry said. His bright green eyes were piercing. Poppy could imagine how formidable Harry had been in battle.   
“A philosopher’s stone you say? How on earth did you obtain that! There’s about seven in the world at a maximum, although two are rumoured destroyed and most of the others in possession of goblins. People fight over them, they’ve destroyed nations, but they’re harmless in themselves. Throw it in your cauldron as a catalyst and the possibilities are endless-”  
“Yes well let’s not discuss every single one,” Harry said tightly. “You can brew…hell, I don’t know anything about it, but didn’t Nicholas Flamel keep himself alive on it? We could brew life force for Draco.”  
“The two men that could have brewed something like that are dead. And life force has its own side effects Potter, side effects that you may curse in later life like Flamel did. Imagine living for many generations, watching everything you loved deteriorate, everyone you loved die. Why haven’t you given it to a museum Potter? To the ministry?”  
“You think they’d do any good with it? They’d just lock it up in the Department of Mysteries and deny they had it. They wouldn’t help anyone with it! Those two men may be dead, but I know a woman that could brew it that isn’t. Hermione Granger will be contacting you. I want goblins of my choice watching and aiding you all at all times while you work. And I’ll pay you in elixir.”  
Their eyes met. Poppy hadn’t dare hope that Potter would give her any but it’s what elixir was what she had yearned for, secretly, like everyone did, and maybe Potter had been able to see that; it wouldn’t have been hard. Ironically, that was what millions had died for throughout history. She knew that her face had coloured. How embarrassing to be exposed as just as human as her patients.  
“Do good work for a few more years eh?” Potter joked, but his eyes hadn’t changed. They were calculating and intense, they assessed her. So that was his deal.  
“I’ll do good work till my last breath Potter.”   
“Great,” Harry smiled. Their connection was broken. That Potter, Pomfrey thought as she watched Harry lead Draco away by gently pressing into the small of his back. He can and will do anything for those he loves.   
***  
These days Harry felt such a mix of emotions, but at least there was something to feel other than the burn of firewhiskey. He felt on top of the world for being with Draco, being in love was as fantastic as it ever was. There was something to do, someone to put his energy into, and someone to be really seen by. But his nerves were on edge because of Draco’s health. Draco, who seemed maybe fractionally calmer these days, kept to his bed more if that were possible; he said he just didn’t have any energy. This made their sex life hard, and Harry was very frustrated physically. Obviously he couldn’t transfer pressure onto Draco and cause Draco guilt. So he thrust at himself almost too hard in the shower, angrily, desperately, and uttered Draco’s name as loudly as he thought he could without being heard. One morning in the shower after a lot of personal debating and embarrassment, he even put two fingers inside himself, slowly, as deeply as they could go, with the hot water raining down on him and his legs spread on the cubicle floor. It would have been divine, had it not been a shadow of what it would be like if it were Draco touching him with his long white fingers, Draco inside him, validating him. Draco looked like a ghost. It was like he was fading away, and it terrified Harry, who couldn’t lose anyone else – he just couldn’t. Every time he couldn’t touch Draco how he wanted to he went through the reasons of why in his mind, it was a series of mental steps that he had to take after tiredly thinking, why can’t I just make love to my boyfriend? Can I please just have that?  
After a night of holding Draco like it was just the two of them in the world that was as satisfying as it was very unsatisfying, Harry sat up with his feet on the floor and, turned away from Draco said, “Draco you should get up and get dressed. Today we’re picking up the elixir.” Harry sounded choked.   
Draco could sense Harry’s frustration and it was sending him inside himself again, sending him to the place where fear was just sensation, and he didn’t think of anything in words. He wasn’t sexually satisfying; this devastated him. He wanted to keep Harry so, so happy, but he physically couldn’t. And he wanted to exercise his right to say no…wait, he had no right, but he wanted to say no for the sake of saying no…he irrationally reasoned that if Harry really wanted him, he could just force himself on Draco, which maybe Draco would even welcome in a horrible, skewed, depraved way.  
Draco made to get up, but Harry turned around and straddled him, without touching him. It wasn’t aggressive, but alarming.   
Harry moved closer. “Draco I, I want you Draco,” he whispered hoarsely. Harry’s lips were wet and swollen. “I want you I want you, god, fuck, damn it Draco. Ughh,” he groaned and breathed into Draco’s mouth. Draco licked his lips, but placed a hand on Harry’s chest as if pushing him away. Harry got up abruptly and pounded his fist on the dresser. A quiver seemed to go through the whole room. Draco dresses as quickly as he could, petrified.   
Harry had sent his own goblins, well, the goblins that had been minding his affairs at Gringotts all these years to oversee Poppy and Hermione’s brewing. That goblins would betray him was unthinkable, because goblins would rather avada kedarva themselves than do this, it had never been in their nature. That’s why they were the bankers that they were. Harry doubted they gave a damn about his fortune, they cared about their reputations. Well, as long as they had something motivating them.  
“I don’t need to be watched Harry,” Hermione had said to him haughtily over a steaming, stinking cauldron, pushing stray hairs out of her face.  
“It’s not you I’m watching,” Harry said kindly.  
“Isn’t it sad that we have to watch our old school nurse who saved our lives a few times?”  
“She never saved your life. And yeah, I know I know, it’s more sad what people can become when they’re so close to having things they’ve dreamed of. What avarice can do to people.”  
“You’ve become wiser and sadder Harry,” Hermione shook her head.  
“Too sad and wise to tell you that you’re doing a fantastic Snape right now? I can just see it!” Harry made a view finder with his hands. “My god! Severus! Back from the dead!”  
“Shut up Harry!” Hermione laughed, throwing a rag at him. She really was his best friend.  
“Barbecue was ok with Draco,” Harry said, maybe a little too casually.  
“That’s because – and don’t get angry – the Weasleys think that you helping Draco is some eccentric phase of yours that they just have to ignore until it goes away. Me, I personally think there’s more to it. And I think you know I know that now.”  
Hermione added what turned out to be stabiliser to the clear liquid that Poppy was standing over, that just looked like boiling water with the philosopher’s stone at the bottom.   
“Just looks like boiling water,” Harry said.  
Hermione rolled her eyes and Poppy said, “Yes Potter, boiling water, that’s what we’ve been toiling over for nine hours a day for three weeks.”  
Then the contents of Hermione’s cauldron hit the contents of Poppy’s and the clear liquid turned a glossy, ruby red, and seemed to let out an eerie, human sounding breath. The mood had turned serious. Draco had been instructed on Harry’s advice to take a turn about the hospital garden with the elves under his invisibly cloak. It had been a nice enough day and Harry didn’t want Draco to be cooped up in this hot environment with Poppy, who he was afraid of.  
“By Jove, we’ve actually done it,” Poppy whispered, pushing her glasses up. “At first I wondered whether this stone was real, then I thought we’d never pull that complicated set of instructions off.”   
While she muttered to herself, Hermione addressed Harry.   
“I’ll give this to you in standard dose bottles. You can’t drink more than a bottle. Any more will kill you rather horribly; you’ll mentally regress to your childhood, I mean your brain will literally reverse in age, before it becomes foetal, then stops existing. But a bottle will keep anyone alive for a good four, five hundred years. And Harry, that’s a side effect, not a pro. My bones will have turned to dust before you die. Do you still want this stuff? Is he…worth it? You’re changing your life beyond recognition.”  
“Hey, I won’t be drinking it.” Harry laughed nervously. “It’s his only option.”  
“And you think he wants to live to bury you and then visit your grave for an eternity?”  
“He’ll find someone else.”  
“You’re making a lot of decisions for him.”  
“Fine! We’ll both drink it. And there’s enough here for everyone I know. I’ll give you a bottle so you can irritate me for eternity.”  
“Thanks, but I don’t want to bury my children.”  
“I’ll give some to them.”  
“Harry, what are you taking on here?”  
“Bottle the stuff Hermione, I’ve made my decision.”  
“I’m not an elf or a goblin or one of your security people, don’t order me about!”  
“I’m sorry Hermione. I really am. Look, I love him. I don’t want him to die, please. You can understand that? Wouldn’t you save Ron?”  
“Ron is different, I’ve known Ron for so long.”  
“I’ve known Draco since I was eleven years old.”  
“Not in the same way. Is this a dream come true for you, keeping someone alive forever? What’s this really about Harry? Who else do you wish you’d given this concoction to?”  
“Hermione please, please, I love him.”  
***  
Harry sat opposite Draco at the kitchen table. There was a bottle of liquid in front of both of them, and the mood was tense. Draco was trembling. For one wild second Harry thought, why does this feel like some sort of suicide pact? Then he dismissed the idea.   
“Draco, this is to save your life, otherwise you will die. I want you to live, you deserve to live.” Harry’s voice cracked.   
And what about what Draco himself wanted? Draco thought.   
The liquid was too thin to be like blood, it looked more like liquid red stained glass windows. They both drank.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone needs any visiual aids, I imaged Harry as a sort of Matt Hitt, and Draco as a sort of Sephiroth from Final Fantasy. Enjoy! And as always let me know what you think :)

Chapter 5  
The sensation was underwhelming, Harry had felt more drinking alcohol. Maybe he just felt a little bit healthier, like someone would do on a good day. Draco meanwhile felt no different. The potion was designed to keep him alive, not cure him. For his symptoms, he would need to return to the doctor. He was still thin, and therefore weak. Elixir didn’t build muscle. It was creepy like that; it only kept you alive.  
“Well er, that’s over and done with,” Harry said.  
Draco smiled his sweet, little smile.   
“It went well with you and the Weasleys, didn’t it?”  
“It was ok…good. It was good.”  
“Great. Well I’m going to take a bottle of this stuff for Molly, it only seems fair. You should come, they’ll get more used to you the more you’re there, and they’ll get used to us together. Well, after they realise that we actually are together,” Harry rolled his eyes.  
So that’s how he does it, Draco thought. One thing leads to another, and before you know it you’re in the middle of a crazy Harry Potter scheme, or, as some would call it, ‘adventure’. It was interesting to see the inner workings of Harry’s bizarre, chaotic life, after always seeing it from the outside, from where it looked glamorous and deliberate. Harry was a person that simply didn’t accept fate, and that’s why bizarre alternatives occurred, when they would have simply ended lives in anyone else’s life. Most people, on hearing their lover was dying, would grieve. Even Hermione hinted that that’s what she would have done. Harry instead produced a philosopher’s stone. Most people, on hearing that there was a basilisk in their school, would go home and never return. Harry naturally took on some crackpot mission to open the Chamber of Secrets, as if it were his only option. But that was all rumour, wasn’t it?  
They got dressed, and just before leaving, Harry gave Draco a tight, sincere bear hug. They listened to each other breath. The hallway was blue, and all the furniture looked blue and the light was blue and dim, but not in an oppressing way. It was quiet. Did Draco really feel…safe? And then he couldn’t help chuckling to himself. My lover carries a bottle of elixir that most people would attack him for in the street, like it was a cheap bottle of wine he was taking to a dinner party.  
“What you laughing at?” Harry smiled.  
“You,” Draco dared, sticking out his tongue. He immediately paled afterwards at his cheek, but Harry just ruffled his hair, and laughed heartily.   
“Harry dear!” Molly exclaimed as she opened the door in an apron. She threw her arms wide for him to hug her. A smell of roast potatoes wafted out to Draco.  
“Hullo Mrs Weasley.”  
“Are you ever going to stop calling me Mrs Weasley? It’s Molly. You’re not a little boy anymore.”  
“No, but I’ll probably always call you Mrs Weasley.”  
“And I see that…oh, Draco is still with you…”  
“Yes,” Harry said, and was there the slightest tone of defensiveness in his voice? “He’s going to be with me for a while.”  
“Ah, that’s very kind of you Harry, come in.”  
“It’s more than kindness.”  
The mood in the kitchen was calmer than when every family member was present. Charlie was at the kitchen table with a large mug of English tea in front of him, pouring over some old books about dragons that were spread out all around him. He never gets tired of dragons, Harry thought. At least chasing them was keeping his body in perfect shape. Bill was by the fire with Fleur, flooing some of her relatives. He raised a hand as he entered. Harry was told that Arthur was in the shed with Fred, who was trying to synthesise muggle technology and magic for some new Weasley products.   
“Maybe you could help them later dear?” Molly asked.  
“Sure,” Harry said. So, that was everyone. Harry realised that he relaxed a little. If Ron and Ginny had been there, plus the kids and everyone else, maybe there would be fireworks because of Draco. Was he expecting there to be fireworks at some point because of Draco? At the moment everyone behaved as if they were too good, too knowledgeable and far, far too open minded to question Draco’s presence, which they really didn’t understand and which irritated them, well, at least in Molly’s case. Fred and Bill genuinely seemed a little more open minded, if very perplexed. But yes, the others behaved as if they were simply better than Draco, and wouldn’t stoop to confrontation and questioning because they were above that. Besides, Draco was ill, obviously mad, and had no wand or magic or money or property. Well, so he shouldn’t. That was his place, and as long as he was so subordinated, they could almost handle his presence for short lengths of time by pretending that he didn’t exist.   
“Would you like some tea Harry? Earl Grey?” Oh yeah, and they made it worst by showing every kindness to Harry whilst ignoring Draco, as if to emphasise that he was nothing and that Harry was theirs. All of this was a sense though, floating in the air, that would never have been admitted to.   
“Sure. And could Draco have a cup?”  
Draco could feel himself colouring to the tips of his hair at the mention of his name. Damn fair skin, he thought.   
“Of course,” Molly said sweetly.  
Harry sat at the table next to Charlie.  
“All right mate?” Charlie asked, pushing up his reading glasses. The sun had bleached his hair a warm blonde and he had tied back his curls with a leather cord.   
“Yeah mate.”  
“All right Draco?” Charlie asked.  
“Y-y-y-es, thanks, thank you.”   
Harry smiled. Draco took a close seat next to Harry.  
Bill’s French really had improved, Harry mused. Well, never any time like the present, Harry always thought.   
“Molly I brought something over for you. I know it has consequences, but it just didn’t seem right not offering it to you. I’ve got a bottle of elixir if you want it, standard bottle that is.”  
Their reactions were as follows: the perfectly put together woman that Fleur had been rapidly chatting away to screamed. Fleur herself got up, covered her cheeks dramatically, and screamed. Bill got up, growled, and shouted, “What the fuck?”  
Charlie dropped a particularly heavy tome on his foot, and didn’t seem to realise, instead saying, “It can’t be.”  
And finally Molly shrieked. Arthur and Fred came running in. “What’s Malfoy done?” Fred demanded.  
“Nothing!” Harry snapped. “I said I had elixir, now does anyone want any or not. I’m sorry to have spurned this on you, obviously I…should have sent a letter or something.” And then Harry explained why he had had the elixir produced, and the fact that he and Draco had already drunk some. He didn’t say how much they had drunk.  
“It’s too good to waste mum,” Charlie fixed Molly with a look that said, please accept it. After tense deliberation, Fred said, “I’ve got just the things we need, Weasley shot glasses. Harry, the bottle please,” And he poured everyone a shot. They all sat round, staring dumbly at the beautiful red liquid.   
“On the count of three?” Arthur said. “One, two, three.” Everyone downed their shot. Fred laughed nervously.   
It struck Harry as the perfect time to say, “I’m in a relationship with Draco.”  
Molly Weasley looked at him as if to say, now why did you have to go and do that? We were all safe in pretence.  
“Harry, you know I care for you like a son. That’s why I can’t always lie to you and be nice to you, not when it’s not in your best interest.”   
That’s funny, Harry thought. It seemed that that was exactly what she had been doing.   
“I think you should speak to an understanding professional, someone kind. I’m sure you’d find someone, or maybe we could find someone for you. I know you think you’re responsible for a lot of the things that happened in the war, but the crucial thing is that you’re not Harry, you’re simply not. You don’t need to make up for the war, like this,” She gestured sadly towards Draco.  
Anger rose inside Harry. That familiar sense of injustice that had been with him since his childhood with the Dusleys. “I’m in love with him,” Harry said hotly to everyone.   
“How on earth can you be in love with him?” Charlie hadn’t meant to sound rude, Harry realised, he was genuinely flabbergasted.  
“I, I’m in pain when he’s not around, I’m not right when he’s not there, I feel complete with him.” Complete, he thought to himself. That’s why people said that cheesy thing that had always seemed hollow to him. And now he understood it. The room felt hostile and angry but also awkward and upset. These people desperately wanted to get on with Harry, but Harry was no longer a child, and did not comfortably fit the mould of the person that they had always known. How had he changed so much?  
“I think those sensations might be the sense of duty Molly was trying to talk about Harry,” Arthur said. “Now hold on, we’re not trying to browbeat you. Remember that we care about you Harry.”  
“We can’t understand,” Bill growled. But Bill was always growling.  
“But you understand me and you, I hope?” Fleur said in her thick, French accent.   
“Of course I do!” Bill said. “Don’t compare things that can’t be compared, this is what I always say to you! You didn’t know him. You don’t know of his past, his family.”  
“Yeah Bill,” Harry said in a deadly voice, coolly meeting the man’s gaze even though he was seated and Bill was standing. “You don’t know anything about what you think you know all about! Did you know that Draco’s been locked up in the worse hell imaginable for years, being tortured and raped by every death eater, creature, hell, probably even Voldermort, in every possible way-”  
“Don’t!” Draco whispered. He started crying and quivering, humiliated, once again. But of course, humiliation seemed the purpose of his existence. Harry didn’t have the right to share information about him, but then his life had been set up in a way to insure that ultimately Harry had all the rights, and Draco didn’t have any.   
Meanwhile Harry was recoiling in revulsion at a specific that he had just blurted out, because he hadn’t considered it before. Had Draco been raped by Voldermort? Wasn’t it likely? And if so, how on earth could they move on? What on earth could they do? That was the worst thing that could ever happen to anyone that he could ever think of. How he would welcome death over and over instead of it.  
“And you would take up with him?!” Molly screeched as if Draco was now a giant roach she had to get rid of. She lost all her pretences, and seemingly her wits. “Harry! I’m so sorry for you! You need help! We’ll help you! Oh what a mess!”  
“He is Veela.” Fleur declared randomly. Her cat glance slithered over Draco. “And I know more than you all think. I know about the old families, I know all you know. It’s just that my knowing comes from a different angle, and where you lack I can colour the picture in, and from your reactions to information I gather new understandings.”  
“Fleur please,” Bill said, as if his wife was ever the eccentric foreigner and that she couldn’t have picked a worse time to display this. Never mind that he looked the unusual one in their relationship, with scars across his handsome face.  
“I am also Veela,” Fleur said quietly. This registered to everyone as some sort of bizarre threat, before she stalked off like a leopard. Draco just sat crying, rocking backwards and forwards. Oh! The constant shame…  
Everyone had forgotten that they had taken shots of the rarest, most sought after potion in the world.  
“Mate are you sure you don’t just need him in your life because, well, no one else can put up with you, and you can fit Draco into your life like a puppet? He can’t ask much with the way that he is, can he?” Fred said.  
“Isn’t he a war criminal?” Molly asked.  
“Pardoned. By myself. Via letter to the ministry.”  
There was hurt silence everywhere. At least they’re seeing me, Harry thought.   
“We’ll go where we’re not welcome,” Harry said, somewhat unnecessarily, and lead Draco away.   
At home, Draco couldn’t read Harry. Harry felt like something that was about to explode, what’s more, Harry was fearsome when he was angry, this was the man that had destroyed the worst evil wizard ever known. Draco stood awkward and miserable. Harry stormed about. All the windows flew open. He dismissed the elves.   
“Well?” He suddenly turned on Draco. Draco cowered. “Did he?” Harry demanded.  
“Harry I – you – I didn’t want you to tell them Harry! I wish you hadn’t told them what – what happened to me.” Draco felt wretched about complaining but, something was niggling at him. Harry had had no right to tell everyone about how he had been abused without his permission.   
“Did he rape you?!” Harry shouted, approaching Draco.  
“Who? Harry I wish you hadn’t told them! Oh, I wish you’d asked me-”   
“Did Voldermort rape you?” Harry bellowed.  
Draco almost felt he saw red, it seemed that out of all this wretchedness Harry was drawing out some worm of anger from deep inside him, and the more he antagonised Draco the more irritated and bigger it grew.  
Draco leaned heavily on his cane, certain that he would fall soon.  
“Stop it! Stop bullying me, stop chastising me! I’m just trying to say I wish you hadn’t told them! You didn’t have to humiliate me, that’s been done enough! You had no right – I mean, you have all the rights! I have absolutely none-”   
“Draco I’m trying to ask you a fucking question and it’s important! Will you listen?”  
Harry shook Draco, and in his sheer terror Draco couldn’t control his body – he urinated all over himself. He always felt that he couldn’t feel more around Harry, and realised that was how Harry had always made him feel, now more than ever. He either couldn’t feel more desperate, more pushed, more angry, more on the brink of annihilation out of pure exhaustion, or more comfortable, safe, content and loved.   
Harry was squeezing Draco’s upper arms and it was painful. Draco was shaking and soaked. Tears ran down his cheeks.  
“I’m so sorry Harry I know I don’t have the right to question you, I’m sure you know best, it’s just that it’s hard, always being unheard and unseen but I know I should accept it, I’m too proud, that’s why bad things happened to me, I’m proud and arrogant and a bad person and stupid and ugly but I so wish you hadn’t told them Harry-” The corners of the room were going black. Draco could taste bile in his mouth. I’m going to faint! He thought. Thank god!  
“Draco will you just listen to me? Listen! Did Voldermort rape you or not?” As he felt himself being shaken again, Draco felt as if the life were being shaken out of him. He could have thanked Harry for that, then all went black.   
***  
Harry stood in the kitchen, his face ashen, his brows drawn. Hermione watched him for clues, but also sadly. He had called saying, “I just can’t bear it…” With no particular request for her to come over, but she had understood that his thoughts had been scattered, and had come over anyway.   
“Shot?” Harry said faux casually, to delay them having to talk about Draco. He had felt so guilty after Draco had passed out, but he was reaching a point where he didn’t know what to do with Draco. His natural instincts had always been to force things to work, but that only made things worse with Draco. Harry poured Hermione a shot of elixir in a stupid Simpsons shot glass, and took pleasure in the juxtaposition of the two things.  
“I’m only going to drink it because Ron had a shot without a second thought. Thanks a lot Harry. God knows what’s going to happen now,” She knocked back the drink. “Well, that tasted underwhelming.” The way she had said ‘thanks a lot’ sounded none too bitter.  
“Hermione if he was…was raped by Voldermort, I just don’t know what I can do. It’s more horrible that anything I could possibly envisage, it’s breaking us.” Harry sounded tired and scared.  
“Maybe you two are already broken together. Maybe you can’t be fixed.”  
“I can’t accept that. I need another explanation.”  
“At the very least you need outside help. As usual, well, what used to be usual, you were both fighting your own corners without listening to the other. I think professional relationship counselling would do you good.”  
“Wizards do that?” Harry said, shirking the idea that he didn’t like.  
“Wizards are humans.”   
“I know, I know.”  
“He didn’t want you to tell anyone. Is that so hard to understand?”  
“Why couldn’t he just give me an answer? It’s killing me.”  
“And how do you think he feels, who that may have actually happened to? Wow, I’m arguing Malfoy’s corner! It’s because your obstinance puts everyone on defence. He feels steamrollered by you all the time Harry, and what makes it harder is that he feels being steamrollered is what he deserves. He’s very conflicted.”  
Harry sank into a chair and put his head in his hands.  
“I love him Hermione. I love Draco Malfoy. It’s great to say it. Do you understand how wonderful it is to have him? To hold him? He feels like food, like oxygen, like sleep.”  
“It’s how I feel about Ron.” Hermione said, bright red. She never really displayed her feelings. It was almost as if emotions didn’t fit into her idea of propriety. Academia was where she felt most comfortable.  
“Harry I know how it feels to be alone in something. To be afraid. Things are changing for us all again. I wouldn’t have drunk that shot if I didn’t think, well things are changing more than we could have imagined anyway.”  
Harry looked up to notice Hermione. She looked pale. Whenever she looked slightly sick she looked ridiculously young. His suspicions were aroused. What was Hermione talking about?  
“What’s going on Mione? Are you having an affair?”  
Hermione laughed bitterly. “That would be more simple in some ways. I would never have an affair Harry. I love Ron and the children more than anything.”  
“Have you noticed that we’re the outsiders in the Weasley family? We’re sort of part of it, but sort of not.” Harry said.  
“Yeah, we’re united in that. Harry, whatever happens, I want you to know that I care about you so much and that you’ve been an amazing friend to me. And I’m sorry.”  
“Hermione what the hell is going on? Is it to do with Draco?”  
“Nothing. No.” Hermione knew that as long as it wasn’t to do with Draco, Harry would forget it for the moment, which is why for the sake of her own relief, she had expressed herself ever so slightly.  
After Draco had fainter and before Hermione had come over, Harry had said, “Draco, no! Please come around, I love you, I’m so sorry.” Draco had collapsed in his arms like a doll. Harry had magicked him clean, and held him so close. He had carried Draco upstairs the way he usually carried Draco – with Draco’s legs spread around Harry’s body and with Harry holding him under his buttocks. This time Harry had to support his neck. Draco came around upstairs. Harry had been pacing in Draco’s room worriedly.   
“Draco! Thank god! Have some water.”  
Draco had obediently drunk the water Harry had offered, letting Harry hold the glass, and it was arousing to watch him take big, uncertain swallows of water, with a few drops dripping down his chin to his neck…afterwards he had just turned away from Harry and slept, and Harry, ashamed, had left him to it.   
Just over three weeks later Draco shuffled into Luna Lovegood’s office, his cane making little thumping noises. Trust Luna to have a non-magical occupation, not that that was a bad thing. Harry tended to keep his business amongst people he knew, he didn’t really get to know new people. He didn’t think he was very good at it. They both sat down on the comfortable, slightly dilapidated couch. The room was a hippy’s dream, albeit a magical one: all beads and crystal balls and tribal throws. Luna herself reminded Harry a little of Trelawney.  
“Hello Harry, Draco,” Luna said warmly. “So why are you here today?”  
Well, that was very direct. Harry had been sceptical about therapy, but he felt at his wits end and was ready to try anything. Also, he was just embarrassed, he had never been the best at articulating his feelings, and now he was going to be doing a lot of that.   
“Er, hi. Well.” Harry looked at Draco. Draco was looking fixedly at the floor. “We’re having problems. There are things that we can’t move past, and we just can’t communicate. I can’t get Draco to see that…he’s safe. That I love him. That I just want him to be free and happy.”  
“I see, thank you. And Draco, why do you think you’re here?”  
Draco looked up at Luna, plainly afraid, and then tentatively looked at Harry, as if for a clue. He then opened and closed his mouth, but it was as if his voice wouldn’t come out.  
“He probably thinks that I’m trying to punish him in some way because he sees everything in a warped, fucked up way-”  
“Thank you Harry,” Luna interrupted sharply, “I was asking Draco.”  
Harry went bright red. “Well he wasn’t answering!”  
“He will if you give him a chance. Maybe not now, maybe not in ten minutes, maybe not in ten weeks. But he will if you allow him to.”  
“ME? ALLOW HIM TO? I want nothing more! I’ve been doing everything for him! No one cares for him like-”  
“Harry, please be quiet.”  
Incredulous, Harry threw himself back, his arms folded, uneasily silent.  
“So Draco, where were we? Ah, why do you think you are here?”  
Draco was wringing his hands furiously. Harry was anxious to help Draco.  
“Um – I – I mean…” Draco broke into coughing that shook his whole body. Luna poured him some water. “I disobeyed Harry. I mean I, I questioned him. I wish he hadn’t told, I mean, it was his right to, I just wished, I tried to tell him, I shouldn’t have – I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Am I going to be punished? I won’t do it again, it’s a bad habit of mine.”  
Harry had wondered how long Luna was going to let Draco ramble on nonsensically, but only after he seemed done, Luna said, “Interesting answer Draco, but no, that’s not why you’re here. And you can leave anytime you want, neither I, nor Harry will stop you. You’re here because Harry loves you, and he wants to have a relationship with you, but because of some of the problems you have together, as well as individuals, you need help to be able to have a relationship. Do you want to have a relationship with Harry?”  
Harry felt his heart still. If Draco said no now, it would break his heart. He held his breath, and the time stretched. Please, he thought. His love for Draco made him feel desperate, and powerless, like Draco always had, like nothing else, even Voldermort, and except maybe death, could. He needed Draco to live. Amidst his plentiful pain Draco suddenly thought of being spooned by Harry in bed. It was a perfectly comforting position – oh to be held like that! It allowed Harry to kiss his back, which he did, softly and slowly all through the night as if he took his time to adore every inch of Draco, whilst running his hands over Draco’s chest, and nuzzling Draco’s cold legs with his own, warm ones. The memory gave Draco chills. “Yes,” He whispered.  
Draco had taken forever in answering. Harry stared at him. Draco glanced shyly at Harry, who grinned, and took his hand.   
“Harry, it was terrible of you to betray Draco’s confidence, at a time when he really needed to feel like he could trust you. Betraying his trust like that probably set him back. You need to encourage him.”  
“I’m so sorry Draco,” Harry said, looking sincerely into Draco’s eyes. “In my mind I was trying to make others understand, and I was angry about…well, we can talk about that later. But I won’t ever betray your trust again.”   
Warmth spread through Draco, and he smiled again.   
“Now we’ll cover what Harry was angry about, and some of your past experiences later on Draco. But I just want to ask you an important question first. What is your favourite colour?”  
Draco and Harry looked at each other. Harry shrugged.  
“G-green,” Draco said.   
“Ah, good choice! Is that because it’s the colour of Slytherin?”  
“No…it’s because, well,” Draco blushed furiously. “It’s the colour of Harry’s eyes.”   
Then it was Harry’s turn to blush, pleased.  
“Well I think we’re done today. Do you both want to proceed with therapy? It’s not for everyone, and there will be very dark times.”  
Harry let Draco answer first. “Yes,” Draco said quietly. For one second he entertained the idea of being healed and normal. It was a wonderful vision, the first of its kind in his mind. But then he thought of himself and Harry fighting, not hearing each other, seeming to hit brick walls in their conversations and understandings.   
“Yeah,” Said Harry. They all got up and shook hands.   
Well, Luna had been as unorthodox as ever, but she seemed to have helped somehow. It felt so good to know that Draco wanted him, he thought he’d never tire of hearing that.  
At home, Harry felt turned on. He felt that he wanted to mark his and Draco’s feelings. And he just needed Draco, he didn’t mind admitting this to himself. He needed Draco now. Harry ran a hand up Draco’s back suggestively and Draco froze. Harry turned him around and they began to kiss in the way that they usually did, with Harry taking the lead. Harry then picked Draco up in the way that he usually did, and placed his bum on the table. Draco moaned as Harry pushed into his groin. They were still kissing. After a little while Draco realised that the way Harry was pushing into Draco wasn’t the usual way he pushed into Draco, it was as if he wanted, no, needed to be part of Draco, to be inside Draco. Draco’s kissing faltered. The tightness in his trousers from his errection, plus his flesh’s memory of its suffering, put him in pain. Harry released him breathlessly, and, holding his hand, led him upstairs.  
In Draco’s bedroom, Harry began stripping furiously without a word, as if clothes were something disgusting that he couldn’t wait to be rid of. And he wanted to fuck Draco in what was now Draco’s room, to complete the effect of being fully inside Draco, by taking him in his habitat. He had never in his life wanted anyone more, not even Cedric. Of this he was sure.  
Draco stood, quietly shaking, his hands under his chin. He hoped that when Harry sucked him, he would be gentle, as he was feeling sensitive. But something about Harry was different this time, and Draco felt afraid and uncertain. Draco removed his clothes with his customary dread, as if he were undressing in front of thousands. By his hands Harry led him to the bed and lay him down. Then he lay on top of him, and began kissing him. Draco panicked as he felt Harry’s full weight and they’re very real nakedness so close to each other, and as he looked down he could see his cock rubbing against Harry’s. Harry’s cock was absolutely huge.   
“Draco I want to be inside you,” Harry said, staring at Draco with his dazzling eyes, and Draco thought that if he could just get lost in them he could bear what Harry was suggesting. Harry sounded desperate.   
“I want to feel you, I want to be inside you, please,” Harry begged. Draco nodded, thinking, I can’t refuse him and it’ll happen sooner or later. If I say no, everyday he’ll be begging me for this. It’ll make things difficult. Besides, he’s been so kind to me...  
Draco nodded, and Harry, an expression as if he had been granted the world breaking over his face, spread Draco’s legs. There it was…Draco’s woman parts behind his testicle. It was a perfect, plump slit. It was covered in sparse, white hair. Draco burned in shame. Harry was looking at his abnormality.   
“Which hole?” Harry asked quietly, after some consideration.   
Draco, so embarrassed with the realisation of what Harry was asking, said, “Please not anal, that’s so much more painful…”  
“Ok, sure. No anal.” The things you had to verbalise at the closest quarters in a relationship!  
Draco braced himself, and Harry pushed two fingers into Draco. They slid in easily, and he marvelled at Draco’s velvety texture. Draco whimpered. Harry thrust his fingers in and out of Draco, still lying on top of him, watching Draco’s face intently. Draco kept his eyes closed, but was breathing heavily. When Harry thought that Draco was wet enough, he withdrew his fingers, and spread Draco’s wetness onto Draco’s lips.   
“Open your mouth,” Harry said, and then put his fingers into Draco’s mouth. “Suck,” Harry said, and Draco did.  
At this erotic display, Harry felt he couldn’t contain himself any longer, and he pushed into Draco, and growled. It had been easy for Harry to enter Draco, and for once it didn’t feel uncomfortably tight. Harry had had a number of sexual partners, and he’d grown to accept the uncomfortable tightness of them. He didn’t think he’d find a perfect fit like Draco, and he marvelled at the sense of freedom it afforded, he only didn’t want to think about how Draco had come to be this shape as it were, because such thoughts could ruin everything. He began to thrust, hard.  
Harry was pounding him, and Draco felt that Harry filled every part of him, as if Harry was filling him up to his very throat. He cried out every time Harry slammed into him, and after a while he put his hands on Harry’s back. Harry seemed to be encouraged by this, and pounded Draco with all his strength. Draco’s testicle and rock hard cock were being mercilessly crushed, and after a while Draco could feel himself tightening, tightening, then spasming in ecstatic orgasm. At this spasming Harry came too with a cry, and Draco could feel Harry’s warm, thick come coating him from the inside. He could also feel it dribbling out as Harry pulled out of Draco. Suddenly sleepy, Harry kissed the top of Draco’s head.  
“I’m crazy about you,” Harry said to Draco. He said it like he was powerless, like Draco was a great force, like the weather, that he was just going along with. How strange he should feel that way, Draco thought. Draco held Harry close while Harry slept. He thought he felt a little less wretched, a little more whole.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6 people! Took a lil' while to write but hope you enjoy, as ever, let me know what you think!

Chapter 6  
Although Draco didn’t mind, in fact, enjoyed having sex with Harry, not just physically but also emotionally, he found the frequency with which he had it difficult. It was very tiring, and often, and suddenly spurned on him. It wasn’t violent or aggressive, but it would have been classed as more rough than gentle. Draco would have liked to have soft sex in the dark with Harry reassuring him, at times that they both agreed on, rather than in the stark light of day. Harry wanted to do thing like penetrate him, have sex that way for a few minutes, then fuck him in his mouth, then penetrate him again until he came, which could take a while. There would be so much swapping around going on that Draco felt unsettled, uneasy and exposed. He didn’t complain though, because Harry was very kind and he knew that it could be so much worse.   
Harry also liked making Draco kiss him with a mouthful of his own come, or putting one or even two fingers up Draco’s arse suddenly while having sex with him, which sometimes felt good, but more often was frightening and painful. They hadn’t had anal since Draco had begged Harry that he didn’t want to, which Draco was grateful of. Harry seemed to enjoy having sex vaginally anyway. He called Draco ‘the best of both worlds’ and said that since he was bisexual, with no preference at all between men and women, Draco’s body was the ‘perfect situation’. It didn’t feel perfect to Draco, it felt anything but. It felt like a mess of identities all wrapped up in an ugly, worn out body. And sex wasn’t doing much for his confidence.   
Draco liked watching the talking box with Harry now, especially in the evenings. It was relaxing, and he could cuddle up against Harry’s chest while Harry absently mindedly stroked his hair, an act which Draco absolutely loved. It made him feel wanted and cared for. He didn’t like watching the ‘news’, which was something like all the worst stories of newspapers put together and moving, a bit like a wizard photograph. There was all manner of pain and death. Before they had stopped watching it it made Draco panic and scream at Harry to make it go away, which Draco later realised Harry did by simply changing the channel. For some reason he couldn’t bear to see these people suffering, in a way that made it look like it were happening right now and he couldn’t do anything about it. He had seen enough torture and suffering and awful, awful things. Also, watching the news made him feel like those things were happening to him. Luna told him this was because when someone was depressed, they felt pain more acutely, and took on other people’s pain as if it were their own. Draco wasn’t sure if he were depressed or not, it was more that he didn’t know what happy was. He had never been happy in his life. Well, apart from being with Harry. Harry made him feel like bad things went away for a while.   
This made Draco bold enough to ask Harry something one day, in front of the television on their cosy couches in the cosy living room with the curtains drawn that made the room feel safe. He had been thinking about this question for a long time, and had decided that Harry probably wouldn’t beat him or punish him in any other way, because he had never laid a finger on Draco, and had always answered all of Draco’s questions supportively. Of course Draco was scared, but this was just the natural fear he always had.   
“Harry?”  
“Yes gorgeous?”   
Draco smiled. This was a habit of Harry’s, to call him nice names. He knew it pleased Draco. It reminded him of the time that he maybe had been a good looking boy, of the time when he had a tan to his skin and muscles, rather than being a pale bag of bones.   
“Is the way…I mean…uh-”  
“It’s ok, take your time.” Harry had become much better with giving Draco time to talk and do other things, rather than doing everything for him, just because it would be faster. Luna had said that he should do this, no matter how long it took, because it would help Draco get his independence back.   
“Is the way we have sex normal?” He blurted in a tiny voice. He immediately told himself that it had been a stupid question and that he shouldn’t have asked. Harry will think, what do you know? All you know of sex is rape and abuse. And it was true, one of the things Draco felt saddest about was never knowing love before being abused. At least he had Harry, the person he had wanted since he was eleven, now. He only asked this question in relation to how rough and sudden and sometimes frightening and unusual their sex was.   
“As far as I know yeah,” Harry shrugged. He had an open look on his face, and Draco instantly knew Harry had no idea what he was talking about. Oh well, it was fine. It didn’t matter.  
“How come? The only thing that I’ve been thinking is that I don’t mind you going on top. In fact I would like it, I miss it. And don’t think you have to be gentle either, I like it rough.” Harry looked shy as he said this, but also earnest, like he really wanted this from Draco.   
Draco was flabbergasted. The conversation had taken such a turn, Draco had no idea what to say, or how to express the point he had been trying to. The idea of frail, stupid him giving it to Harry, who was the epitome of masculinity, roughly of all things, was such a ridiculous idea that it seemed to mock him. He wasn’t worthy of it, and he didn’t have the confidence for it, and he would be terrible at it and he would hate the moment when they both realised without doubt that he couldn’t satisfy Harry.   
For some reason there was a blush on Harry’s cheeks, and he was looking away. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Harry sighed.   
“I – I don’t think I’d have the confidence for it,” Draco said quietly. “I’d be rubbish. I wouldn’t know what I was doing. It would be my first time-” Draco clapped both his hands over his mouth, mortified. He had just revealed just how inexperienced he was, Harry would surely not want him now.   
Harry couldn’t believe it. “Draco, did you never have sex before…what happened to you?” He asked intently. He had to know.   
Draco shook his head sadly. There was no point in lying. He hoped Harry wouldn’t turn him away.   
“What?! Are you serious? Oh Draco!” Harry took Draco’s hand and stared at him intently. His heart broke for Draco. Draco had deserved, did deserve, to be loved. And Harry would give him all of his love.   
“What about relationships in school? What about…I dunno, I saw you with that girl Parkinson a few times!” Harry was surprised at how angry he felt at the idea of Draco with anyone but him. Draco was his.  
“I never had any,” Draco was looking down, and tears were running down his cheeks. Harry tucked his beautiful white hair behind his ears so they wouldn’t get wet. “I…I liked men. But that’s a sin in a pureblood family, b-because, because, you’re meant to like the opposite sex so you can continue the pureblood line. I never wanted to go with women, and I couldn’t go with men. I was a sinner. I mean, I am. Voldermort could read my mind. He said that what he did to me with the other death eaters and the werewolves was only what I wanted, as a poof and a queer, and, and what I deserved. So what happened was my fault-”  
“Draco it wasn’t your fault,” Harry held Draco so tight, and Draco felt that it was just what he needed. When he was held by Harry he had a bit of peace, he thought he could forget everything for a few moments. Harry was trying not to well up himself for Draco’s sake.   
“I wish, I wish I had something before. I wish I had something that he couldn’t take form me. I wish I had felt love. But they took everything-”  
“You have love now,” Harry said, holding Draco’s chin and looking into his eyes. For once, Draco leaned in for the kiss, and it was gentle and comforting. It seemed to express all their different feelings.  
“And you also have a first time, if they never made you…you know, do that particular thing, you can try that with me. Sometime. Maybe. Only if you want.”  
Draco nodded. Tears still ran down his chin, and he felt bloody miserable and tired. What had this conversation become? Maybe he shouldn’t bother trying to express himself, he was obviously too stupid to make a point.  
“May I lie down with my head in your lap? If that’s all right?” Draco asked meekly.   
“Of course,” Harry smiled.  
Draco did so. Since that request had gone so well… “May, may you stroke my hair?” He whispered. He had closed his eyes.   
“It would be my pleasure,” Harry whispered back.   
Draco occasionally couldn’t help moaning in pleasure as the warm pads of Harry’s fingers caressed his hair and scalp. After a while, Harry stopped, and his hand slipped down and down, into the elastic waistband of Draco’s jogging bottoms, and then pants. Gently finding Draco’s clit, Harry began rubbing it in not too fast swirly motions, with just the right amount of pressure. Draco began gasping, and opened his eyes. It felt nice to lock eyes with each other while Harry was doing this for Draco, and soon enough, Draco spasmed because of his orgasm. Draco made beautiful sounds when he came. Draco was so, so grateful for Harry. He loved him so much. These days he felt like his love for Harry was the only thing keeping him alive. He scrabbled down to his knees, even though he maybe wouldn’t have minded basking in the glow of his orgasm, because he wanted to give Harry something since Harry had been so kind. Harry immediately understood and produced his huge, hard cock, which Draco swallowed after gagging a few times, and began to suck as well as he could. He hoped he was doing well, soon Harry was moaning, and coming down Draco’s throat. He held Draco in place while he did this, not allowing him to pull back, so Draco was essentially choking on Harry’s cock. But Harry pulled out before he passed out, and after catching his breath (this took a few minutes), he collapsed onto Harry’s chest on the couch and Harry held him in place.  
“I love you,” Draco said to Harry.   
“I love you too.” Harry said, kissing the top of his head. Draco’s fine, perfectly straight hair always smelt gorgeous, like lavender.   
“So you never even kissed anyone?” Harry asked the next morning.  
Draco wished he wouldn’t talk about it. “No.”  
“I couldn’t have done that. Sex was the only thing getting me through school.”  
“Well, that’s great, it’s good to know you’ve had so many wonderful lovers, that makes me feel fantastic.”   
They both froze at Draco’s sarcasm. Then Harry laughed. “I like it when you tell me off Draco,” His voice was serious. “I think I need that from you. I think I always have.”  
Draco said nothing, but continued his slow work, tidying up the living room where they had slept that night. They slept there sometimes. It was nice to have such a big house all to themselves that they could just be comfortable and private in.  
“So you never even wanted anyone? I’m not trying to tease you, and you don’t have anything to be embarrassed of. I’m just trying to understand. Obviously you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”  
Draco put down a folded rug. “For a long time I thought I was asexual, that I had an aversion to the whole topic. That was partly because of the hateful beliefs of the purebloods, and because there was no love between my parents. All this was enough to put anyone off. I’ve only ever been attracted to two men in my life. You, and Severus Snape.”  
“Me? You had a fine way of showing it. Well, I felt that way about you too…and I guess I had a fine way of showing it as well.”  
“With you it was this, burning, crazy thing. Severus and I were far closer in temperament. We wouldn’t have had all of our ridiculous misunderstandings. Life would be happier and easier, but I would not be as in love.” Draco looked away.  
Now it was Harry’s turn to burn in envy. Draco was his. He lived and breathed Draco. “Yeah? Well Snape’s dead. And he was in love with my mother.”  
“I know he’s dead Harry. And he knew what was happening to me, and he never once tried to help me…he had his war to win for the light, for you. Never mind that there was someone suffering so who trusted him and cared about him-”  
“Ugh that’s so fucked up,” Harry groaned. He really felt like he couldn’t handle all this unmitigated horror. He yanked Draco to him by his arm and held him to his chest. “If that were me I would have done both. I wouldn’t have let that happen to you.”  
“Harry you’re going to hurt yourself by taking everything on. Some things just are impossible. I know I was insignificant compared to Severus’s larger plans. Besides, not everyone has the kind of power you have. The sort of magic you can do without thinking about it is remarkable. If you were to train-”  
“Why train? Can’t be bothered. Hey, do you think it’s a Veela thing, you only liking a few people? Bill says Fleur has only ever been with two men, and again, she only started seeing Bill when the other guy died. They mate for life don’t they?”  
“I’m no Veela,” Draco mumbled. “I’m not even a wizard. But maybe. I certainly can’t imagine anyone other than you…” It was very hard for Draco to imagine Harry with others, because on top of natural jealously he knew that the other lovers had been better than him. How was he supposed to stand out to Harry with the way that he was? He didn’t want Harry to have shared his body and his energy with others.  
***  
Draco stood nervously on the scales. He had taken a moment to do this while Harry was brushing his teeth in his own bathroom. He knew he was still in there because he could hear Harry humming in there and making loads of noise like he always did. Harry could never just walk around, he had to crash around. Draco normally hated his reflection, all he saw was a pale bag of bones and an ill, ugly, weak muggle. His reflection was enough to ruin his day. But he thought if he could just put on a little bit of weight, he would feel a bit happier today. It was so hard to hate your appearance, it really made you feel like you couldn’t go on, like there was always something wrong. Oh well, let’s not try and think negatively, he told himself, and he stood on the scales. Two kilograms. He had managed to put on two kilograms! Draco clapped his hands to his chest. That was great! So it hadn’t just been his imagination that his thighs were looking a little fuller. He would go and tell Harry straight away.  
“Harry?” Draco asked, knocking on Harry’s door. Harry’s room was always such a mess! There were clothes all over the floor. Draco didn’t really mind. He liked Harry’s idiosyncrasies, liked knowing that he was the one that Harry shared them with.  
“Yeah?” Harry came out of the bathroom with his hair all over the place, polishing his glasses.  
“I’ve managed to put on a little weight.”  
“That’s fantastic!” Harry bellowed, and his glasses went flying as he and Draco ran into each other’s arms. At moments like this they both forgot that they had any worries. Harry loved Draco so much that Draco’s happiness felt like his own. After they were done embracing (but the never really felt done), Harry asked, “How much? If you don’t mind me asking. You don’t have to tell me, I know weight’s personal.”  
“It’s all right Harry, two kilograms!”  
“That’s just fantastic,” Harry said, rubbing Draco’s back. Wow, Draco thought. He’s looking at me like he’s so proud. I’ve only put on a little weight.   
“Did you want to go for a walk around Hyde Park?” Harry asked. “We’re actually pretty close. Sorry, let me just get my specs. Must stop chucking them around actually. We could get you some really warm clothes if you want at some point, shopping with you is actually fun. Also if you need to buy stuff just say, I can give you money if you want your own income or I can just buy you stuff…Draco, what’s wrong?”  
Draco was standing in front of Harry’s long mirror. He didn’t look any better! He looked an absolute state! His hair was almost white and long and scraggly, his body was emaciated, his cheekbones were so prominent. His skin looked ghostly pale. He was a man well into his twenties that didn’t have any facial hair.  
“I look ghastly,” Draco muttered to himself. How dare he let himself believe that he looked better, only to be let down like this? It was Harry’s positive influence that sometimes made him feel happy, but the reality was that Draco was plainly hideous. He looked weedy. He looked like, like, a ferret.  
Harry was over to him in quick strides. “Draco, you’re the most beautiful human on earth!” Harry said. “I’ve never seen anyone better looking, and I’ve always thought this. It’s others that have made you feel ugly, but you’re not, you’re not at all. I’m lucky to have you. I don’t know how I’ve snagged someone so gorgeous.” Draco and Harry hugged again, but this mirror embrace, so like their earlier one, was now sad. Could it be that Harry, for some reason, didn’t think that Draco was as ugly as he obviously was? Draco hoped so.  
Although Draco’s health had seemed to be improving by increments, the last week or so Draco had been violently sick every morning. His weight dropped again, and this made Harry very anxious. When Draco’s weight was very low he would faint all the time, and what happened if he fainted and hit his head? Or fell down the stairs?   
Draco hated that desperate, panicked feeling of being sick. He hated the feeling of sickness in his body, the more intense it was, the more he was able to associate it with intensely bad memories. And he hated the mess of it, he hated being filthy, covered in sick, hated Harry having to clean him, even though he insisted he didn’t mind. He hated clutching the toilet.   
“Draco, what is this? Is this a reaction to potions or something?” Harry asked nervously. Draco wished he wasn’t a pacer. He always paced when nervous.   
“Madame Pomfrey said that potions might not take to me because my magic was very low.”  
“Yeah that’s probably it,” Harry tried to reassure them both. “I’ll make an appointment for us to see her tomorrow. In the meantime, please stop worrying about mess and this and that, any chance to be close to you is a privilege…” Harry stopped himself because he realised he sounded a fool. Luckily Draco seemed like he hadn’t heard. He helped Draco back into his room and helped him change, but it was true; when you loved someone it was always nice to just be close to them.   
“I can stay or I can go, don’t mind which, but please call if you need anything, I don’t want it to be like last night where you had to be sick five times, and then one of the elves woke me.”  
“Stay,” Draco asked. Every time he asked Harry for a little thing he expected a rejection that never came.   
Harry smiled. “Ok. Shall I read to you?”  
Draco was delighted by this idea. “Yes! Could you read a muggle paper if that’s all right? I mean you don’t have to, but they’re usually so interesting, and you can explain it to me, sorry to talk too much, I mean we can read something else…”  
“A muggle paper’s fine! I’ll just get one. I think there’s one in the waste paper bin.” That’s how the night passed, into the early hours actually, with Harry reading things to Draco, and Draco questioning all the things a muggle would understand, like ‘volleyball’ and ‘breast implants’. Draco had to remind himself to talk less, but Harry only encouraged him to talk and laugh more. Harry loved making Draco laugh.   
Their night was such a contrast to their morning in Pomfrey’s office. Please god, no bad news, Harry prayed. I haven’t had enough time with him. A lifetime won’t feel enough with him. It’s always fresh, it’s always new…Pomfrey had run elaborate tests, and not only did she looked grave, she looked awkward.   
“Do you know what it is?” Harry demanded.  
“Yes. Now, I suggest that the two of you prepare yourselves, because this isn’t going to be easy-”  
“You said he’d live for hundreds of years!” Harry wailed, slamming his fist on the table. “That’s what you said!” Harry realised that Draco was tugging at his arm. And he forced himself to calm down.  
“And I stand by that Potter. Let me explain simply; Draco Malfoy is pregnant.”  
“Pregnant, pregnant? How could this be?”  
“Well Mr Potter, I would have though you knew, but if you are having unprotected sex your sperm would have fertilised Mr Malfoy’s egg during-”  
“Yes I know all that! I mean how – when – why – how – pregnant! My god! My god! I’m a father…” Harry was lost for words. He had always wanted to be a father, had almost yearned for it. He had been embarrassed to admit it to previous lovers, but he wanted children and a family of his own. And the idea of Draco pregnant was beautiful. Then he heard Draco’s voice for the first time.  
“How? How? I…” Draco really struggled to speak to anyone that wasn’t Harry, and he preferred not to. He was still as shy as when Harry had first found him around others. “They said that I couldn’t –” Draco obviously seemed frustrated by his speech problem.  
“Tell me Drake, and I’ll tell her, if you want.”  
Draco turned to Harry and began to whisper, “Harry Voldermort kept trying to impregnate me but he couldn’t. He wanted an heir and my black fortune meant that I was the one that had to bear it. After too many failed attempts I was turned over to all manner of death eaters and creatures as a, a, a...”  
Pomfrey had heard this, sure enough, as Draco had barely been concealing his voice. He just couldn’t talk to anyone that wasn’t Harry.  
“By god, that’s horrendous! I see Mr Malfoy. So naturally it was assumed that you couldn’t fall pregnant. Well all the better for you. You would not have been ovulating then, as you were so underweight. That most likely explains it.”  
“But Harry I’m not having periods now, but, but, s-sometimes I did then…”  
“Never the less, it is most likely to do with your rare ovulation then. Now if you wish to terminate-”  
“NO!” Harry shouted at the same time that Draco had shrunk back, protecting his abdomen with a hand.  
“I DIDN’T SUGGEST THAT YOU SHOULD, I WAS PRESENTING THE OPTION! NEVER HAVE I HAD SUCH HOT HEADED CLIENTS!” Pomfrey shouted, red in the face. Everyone was silent. The clocks ticked. They could hear their breathing and cauldrons bubbling in the back.   
“Now Mr Malfoy, I believe you are about three months pregnant. Wizarding terminations are allowed up until six months, as the foetus can be disappeared at any time-”  
“Less information on termination, more information on preservation,” Harry said. He hated the thought of a tiny baby being vanished into oblivion, there were some things that you just couldn’t deal with with the efficiency of magic.   
“I’m going to guess that there’s a possibility that you could lose the baby, just because you’re body’s situation is complicated. But yes, you two are expecting, a son that is.”  
Both Harry and Draco were bowled over afresh at the prospect of having not just a baby, but a son. The gender of the baby made the already startlingly real idea of the baby even realer. A son. A son. Draco and Harry had both been sons, and both of them for a long time during their lives had wanted a son, but neither had ever dreamed that it would occur like this.  
Was Pomfrey really smiling at them? Could the dry woman smile? Pomfrey thought that even though Draco and Harry were looking like buckets of ice had just been tipped over them, both of them would eventually smile like she was. So, she was smiling in anticipation of their smiles.   
“Draco if you would stand up I would like, with permission, to perform a charm that you may find interesting.”  
Looking at Harry all the while, Draco stood. Pomfrey muttered some precise incantations, and Harry gasped at what he saw in awe.   
“Oh,” Draco said, and covered his mouth with wide eyes. Pomfrey had cast a spell for them to be able to see their baby. It looked tiny, like a little bean. But it was real, and oh god, it was theirs. Draco thought that it looked like it was really where it belonged, it looked peaceful and in its nature and element. It made Draco think of a small dolphin riding and riding a wave, as it would do because it was the most natural thing in the world for it to do. It was all swaddled up in its comfort, which was Draco. How odd to Draco that he was providing comfort to something so precious and fragile with his inadequate, awful body. Perhaps it meant that he could finally be of some little use. Don’t come here, Draco thought. You don’t want to come into this world where awful things can happen to a boy who comes into this world appallingly pure and full of promise that’s ready to be destroyed.   
Draco’s lips quivered and turned downwards. Pomfrey’s spell had almost seemed to create a spell over everyone in the room, all was hushed. As Draco couldn’t perform any magic, she taught the incantation to Harry, who was able to cast it wandless after a few times. At that Pomfrey had one of her moments where her eyebrows seemed to fly away into her hair. She wanted to get into an elaborate and tedious conversation with Harry about his rare wandless abilities, but Harry made excuses, and left.  
Harry took Draco’s hands in his own in the car and looked into his beautiful, fascinating eyes. “Draco, we’re having a baby, not just that, a son. It’s what I’ve always wanted. And I love you. This is all I’ve ever wanted, a family. I saw us and my ambition for children as a separate thing, they were pieces that I couldn’t see together for being in their midst you know? But now they fit together. I’m bloody shocked, but I am happy. I am very happy.”  
Draco swallowed. He didn’t know what to say. London glided by. It was dusk. “It’s…miraculous,” He said finally, looking confused. “I…I…I couldn’t, I couldn’t,” He took a ragged breath and tried again. “I couldn’t get pregnant…before, I thought it would never happened, I believed that, it’s hard to change my mind all the time, to believe new things, to have to adapt to such big changes, why couldn’t I get pregnant before? I’m so, so glad I couldn’t get pregnant before…but, but I’m pregnant, my god, oh god, I never thought this would happen when I was younger, oh how could I have?”  
“I know,” Harry held Draco’s head against his chest. He could hear Draco sniffing. It was Draco that was going to deal with the difficulty of this situation, it was happening to his body. Harry could definitely sympathise with that. In a way Harry thought he got off lightly, he only got the joy of being a father. But he would help and support Draco in any way that he needed, always. He loved Draco even more for having a son with him.   
“Hey, this makes me and you stronger Drake. Our little son is like a strengthening link between us. He’s family, we’re a family. And I’ll look after you both. I’ll never let anything happen to either of you.” Harry sounded fierce to Draco.  
“My life is unrecognisable,” Draco said flatly, as if he had no energy left. This statement worried Harry. He never really knew what to say, he preferred to act, and he certainly didn’t know what to say now. Draco just wanted the ride to end so he could get out of the damn car and have a wash and a moment to himself. “Unrecognisable,” He said again to himself. He hadn’t even realised he had said it. He was going to get out of this car to go into the home that was really Harry’s home, he was carrying Harry’s baby, and he didn’t have one fucking minute or thing to himself. He felt like he could punch through the window. But he couldn’t because he was weak, and he hated himself. So his anger was internalised.   
“What do you want to call him? I’ve always wanted to call my son James,” Harry said wistfully. So he’d propelled himself into the future without a care for the present, Draco thought.   
“Harry, I, I, please, I can’t talk about it now.”  
“He needs a name.”  
“Yes I realise that Harry, I’m not an utter fool.”  
“The sooner the better. We should get a room all set up for him-”   
“Harry I’m so tired, and my, my feet are really pulsing in pain. Please give me some time to think. I have no idea what’s going on, I feel like I’m dreaming.”  
“James or Albus really, but James has a certain…you know, I should ring Hermione! I should ring people! Hell, there’s so much to do!”  
“Well why don’t you just call him James Harry after the gods that his father and grandfather are! Why are you even asking me! James is worth more than any disgraceful name his sick muggle prostitute war victim hermaphrodite death eater other father could give him from a long line of monster death eaters! Please do me a favour and just kill me after I’ve had him!” Draco screamed in frustration, a wordless, desperate sound, and smashed his fist on the window glass. It flashed blue as a security measure, and electrocuted his arm. Stinging sorely, Draco moaned. His silence as his tears ran down his face was only interrupted by his sobs on the way home.   
“Draco I’m sorry, I know I got carried away, I admit it, I was wrong and I’m sorry,” Harry pleaded in their doorway.  
Harry didn’t seem to understand the meaning of space. Draco didn’t care whether he was or wasn’t sorry, he just needed time and silence. Why could Harry not understand this? It was because they were just so different, if Draco was like Harry they would be screaming at each other and afterwards all would be forgotten. If Harry were like Draco he would understand subtlety and body language and would be analytic enough to understand when to speak and what to say. If only Harry was more… more…Slytherin.   
It was very hard for Draco to storm, or even walk away in an argument because of how frail he was. Slowly, he sidestepped Harry, and using his cane to support him and breathing heavily, he made his way up the stairs. For some reason he thought that Harry wouldn’t follow him into his room, but he should have realised that Harry would have.   
“Draco I’m sorry,” He kept saying.   
“Can you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth? I need time alone. I have just been told I am pregnant with a son. There was a time when I would have thought that was either a nightmare, or impossible.”  
“This is why I was with Ginny, with Cho, especially with Cedric…I need someone to hold me back Draco, someone that will tell me I’m wrong, that I’m an idiot. I know I am. I need someone to fight back.”  
Draco sank to his knees, utterly exhausted. Harry was like a child.   
“Harry! I am tired! When will you understand that I am not interested in playing lunatic games than your previous partners engaged in? This is not a game. I’m in no mood for games! I am not the people that you just mentioned – you need to accept this! Now stop trying to browbeat me into being your conscience! If there’s an ounce of maturity amongst all your imbecility then make use of it and take responsibility for your life and actions! Use a little tact! A little decorum!” Draco was crying again. He hated so much that Harry pushed him to this point of desperation. Harry wanted to live at these kind of ridiculous extremes, and while Draco didn’t mind the ecstasy of their sex, he was unwilling to put up with this. He refused it. He would not engage with it.   
Draco could feel the awful sensation one gets before they vomit inside him again, and it seemed that recently all he was doing was vomiting. That would be the child then. Everything from now to the rest of his life would be the child…the awful heaviness rose inside him and he was sick everywhere. This seemed to dissipate some tension, and Harry rushed to spell Draco and his surroundings clean. Holding Draco gently, he also spelled Draco’s breath for good measure.   
“Thank you,” Draco sighed.  
Harry smiled abashedly. He picked Draco up like he was the most precious thing in the world and put him under the covers of his bed.   
“Can I get you anything?” He asked.   
“No thank you,” Draco said automatically, then realised this was ridiculous; he was dying of thirst damn it! “Erm, a little water please, if that’s all right Harry.”  
“Sure,” Harry simply spelled some water into a beautiful old Black family glass by Draco’s bedside. “Anything else?”  
“Take that preposterous spell off your car. It made me feel like an animal. And it burned…” Draco shuddered.   
“Ok sure, you got it,” Harry couldn’t help smiling. Draco was telling him what he needed; this was what he had wanted so much, for so long! Draco himself was astounded that he was doing this, it’s just that Harry caused a special kind of anger the way nothing had ever been able to, even when he was at school. And out of that anger rose Draco’s pride. Everything else followed. All the suffering he had endured just made him sad, sad, sad. Harry made him feel alive.  
They stood tentatively looking at each other. Draco had the power in the situation as Harry had been such a fool. Sometimes the lilies on Draco’s arms would open, sometimes they were closed, sometimes they would shed and regrow petals. They would sway in a breeze…  
Draco was licking his lips unconsciously, the way he did when he and Harry kissed for hours in bed at night until the sun came up, or they decided they needed at least two hours sleep.   
“May I kiss you? Just quickly, it’s ok if not,” Harry rushed.  
“Y-yes.” Draco smiled.   
Their lips touched softly and exploratory. They kissed deeply but slowly for a few moments, then broke apart. “I’ll let you rest. And Draco, I really, truly am sorry. I’ll try to take your advice on board. And I’ll talk more with Luna.” Draco nodded. His mind was a few moments behind, replaying their delicious kiss.   
That night they slept separately because Harry thought that he didn’t have any right to go to Draco. He just lay on his back, restless, not able to sleep, his mind full of Draco, Draco’s body, Draco’s cock, Draco’s lips, his own mouth patterning Draco’s chest and back with kisses. He burned with thoughts of Draco. Harry had realised very quickly on nights in a separate room from him that things could get very, very frustrating.   
Draco meanwhile wanted to be held. He wanted to be cherished. Alone he felt useless. He wanted to fit comfortably with Harry and feel that instant contentment that rose as soon as they were together. Harry made him stop feeling worried, when he was there, he could let his guard down and sleep. But even now he had this terrible fear of rejection, and just reserve, as if his experiences had destroyed every daring streak in him. But he couldn’t be alone here with this baby. And he wanted to feel like everything was like it was before he knew he had it.   
“Harry?” He called.  
“Yeah?” Harry said.  
Draco waited, worried. “Could, could you come here? I mean, maybe-”  
Before he knew it he was in Harry’s arms. He loved him, he loved him, he loved him! With Draco’s permission, he cast the incantation to see their baby. Draco felt slightly disappointed that he couldn’t cast the spell, it was just another thing to make him powerless, but he tried to push this thought away and concentrate on positivity. With help from the spell, they felt their baby was there with them.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! As one dear reader pointed out, my story doesn't have spaces. I realise that this must make it harder to read. This isn't because the story didn't have spaces, it's because AoOO didn't include my spaces when I copied and pasted into it. So, I've edited in AoOO instead of Word. Hope that helps! Let me know how you get on with the chapter! :D x

Chapter 7

Draco just couldn’t believe that he was a father. He could believe less that he was actually going to give birth to his child, but he believed it more than when he had first heard it, so at least that was something. The revelation that he was pregnant with child had caused a whole host of anxieties to rise in his mind.

“Harry will they have to-to-to *cut* me open to deliver the baby?” Draco had asked in a small voice, not really wanting to hear the answer.

“I can’t say I know a lot about delivering babies,” Harry answered. He was being honest, but also skirting the issue. “I won’t let anything happen to you though Draco, and we have the best medical team, probably of all time, to help us.”

“I understand, I accept if that’s what they have to do,” Draco carried on. “I’m just, I’m just really scared. I feel like even though I know this child is far more significant than me, even though I am proud to carry it and unconcerned about dying in the process, I feel I just can’t bring myself to that room where-where the baby would be delivered, can’t take those steps…I don’t want to have people surrounding me with instruments Harry…and feel trapped…and panicked…” Draco was looking more drained as he spoke. Harry put his coffee down (it slopped over the edges) and came to hug Draco. This was how Harry so often expressed love, or any emotion; through touch; through holding tightly.

“And it could be a natural birth couldn’t it? I mean like I said I don’t know a lot about it, but that’s an option. I don’t know if there’s cutting involved in that…” Harry didn’t think that he sounded reassuring, and Draco didn’t feel reassured. Draco would only feel that having a child was real once he was having it. Until then he could go numb and push the realisation away, like he did with any difficult realisation that he had to face. It wasn’t denial, no, it wasn’t cowardly like denial, it was actually something more frightening. It was the dissociation of his emotions, and Draco knew that it damaged him. 

“And you are important Draco,” Harry stressed, holding Draco away from him by the shoulders to get a good to look at him, to pierce him with his intense eyes. Draco swallowed. Harry had said that like he knew Draco thought differently. “You’re not some kind of vessel, or, I don’t know, host for a child. You’re as important. You always were incredibly important, even before becoming pregnant, and not just to me. Don’t keep putting yourself down. When you put yourself down it puts me down, which I could live with if I really had to, though I’d really rather not, but it puts our child down, which I can’t have. James, I mean er, *he* will learn from us. I don’t want him to be putting himself down.” 

Harry stroked Draco’s shoulders, and then upper arms, marvelling at them. God, he cherished the very bones of this man. He exhaled slowly with his eyes closed. Draco meanwhile felt guilty. Harry was right, he mustn’t let their son take on the hate that he felt for himself, but he just didn’t believe that he could be strong, and wouldn’t his feeble attempts to be so just be so transparent to their child? God, there was so much to worry about. There was always, so, so much to worry about. But Draco privately reasoned that he had very valid reasons to hate himself – he was a sick pervert who had been raped because of his disturbing attractions. His son wouldn’t ever be in the same situation – but then a horrible, ugly thought rose inside his mind.

“Harry how are we going to protect him?” Draco asked, sounding devastated. 

Harry understood exactly what Draco meant, and his heart broke that what had happened to Draco was such a present fear that Draco felt it could happen again at any moment.

“Nothing will happen to our family,” Harry said in a deadly voice. They held each other for a little while after that. This was something that they often did that Draco really enjoyed. It felt so good not to break their contact. People only broke contact because they felt they needed to, but Draco and Harry had the sort of relationship where they could comfortably just hold each other for as long as they liked, just thinking of other things, enjoying the rare, precious comfort they brought each other. Often, as was the case now, their hugging turned organically into a kiss which was exploratory and with which they took their time, reading each other, hesitating, smiling, playing courting games. Harry would bite Draco’s bottom lip just at the right moment, with the right amount of pressure, and to Draco it felt fantastic. This is what a relationship seemed to be to Draco; you still had a hell of a lot of problems, but between them, you created equally wonderful pleasure for each other while you could. 

“I’ve been wanting to go on holiday for a while now,” Harry mused. It was nice to talk to Draco as if he was speaking straight from his thoughts, as if he was speaking aloud.

“Oh yes?” Draco said.

“Yeah, to Paris, like I said ages ago. Been to Paris?”

“Yes,” Draco whispered. He had been with his father. He remembered thinking that it was enjoyable at the time, but it was marked with the usual misery that he had come to accept as life; everything had been so awfully restrained, and he felt his father’s disapproval at everything, and he had feared his father.

Harry seemed to read the implications behind Draco's answer. Draco was pleased that he seemed to be getting better at that. “Ok…well you don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to. I think I get, it you know? Anyway, we don’t have to go if you really don’t want, but it might be nice. I’ll make it special for you.”

“Ok,” Draco said. He liked the idea of going to a place he had been before and replacing memories of times with his father. He wished he could go to a lot of places and do that. Was it ludicrous that he could *feel* Harry smiling as he held him?

***

They were all packed. Harry hadn’t taken much. It seemed silly pack, he could just summon Dobby (he had the right permit) and Dobby could apparate whatever he wanted from the house. Draco hadn’t taken much either, but then Draco didn’t have much to take. Harry had unnecessarily promised him a lot of shopping at luxury stores. Harry was wearing an old looking, grey t-shirt that said ‘Foo Fighters’ on it. After spending as much time with Harry as Draco had, he knew that this was a muggle musical collective. Harry loved them, but Draco privately thought that maybe they made too much noise, but then they didn’t have any magic to aid them. 

The hotel that they stayed it was exquisite. Because Harry had all the money in the world to throw at anything he wanted to, not to mention the credibility, getting things for Draco, for both of them, became about getting unusual things, the very best of the best, things in the best possible taste. They both liked old things, things with history behind them, rare things. On their first night Harry ran Draco a lovely bubble bath. The heat from the water seemed to sooth the pain in his feet, and he liked the idea of this baby protected in the water. That’s when he had an idea. 

“Harry?”

“Hm?” Harry was sitting on the toilet intently reading a Quidditch magazine like it was life and death news. This was all partly affected nonchalance on his part, he had run Draco this bath and was pretending that he wasn’t thinking about having sex with Draco. Draco knew this, and he was very appreciative of the fact that Harry was trying to give him his space, but Harry wasn’t a very good actor, and the slight redness in his cheeks counted against him. 

“I could maybe give birth in water?” Draco said. “If that’s all right?”

“That’s perfect!” Harry said, gesticulating with his magazine that had been abused a lot while Harry was trying to *not* concentrate on Draco in the bath. It was hard because, well, Draco was sexy and he loved him and he wanted to touch him. Simple. 

Draco sat back, quietly pleased, letting the water soothe him, letting everything soothe him. That’s what the experience of being with Harry was; soothing and healing. He had weathered the worst storms to wash up on Harry’s shore. No one was more surprised than him. The water rippled gently around him. He felt fractionally better at the idea of this whole pregnancy. Wasn’t it strange that neither Harry nor he had at once considered termination, despite everything? No. 

After a while he started to feel a little chilly and uncomfortable. “I think it’s time for me to come out now,” He said. 

“Sure thing.” Harry took the plug out of his bath. It wasn’t that Draco couldn’t do these things, it was that they were both happy with the dynamics that they had. 

Draco still felt so nervous at things like this; Harry helping him out of the tub, nude. He didn’t want to pull back awkwardly and fall; he needed Harry’s help in every way. He felt Harry’s always warm, big hands on his bones. He stood there naked, trembling a little but trying to stay calm, knees facing inwards, waiting for Harry to pass him a towel. Would he? These moments always seemed to last forever. He was covered, and carried to the large, luxurious bed they were sharing at the grand, archaic French hotel. Draco enjoyed being carried. No, enjoyed was the wrong word. He was conflicted about being carried, but was aroused by it. As always, Harry lay him down gently.   
“Draco I want to try something I haven’t before, god knows why, I’ve fantasises about it enough times…”  
Terror froze Draco into the feeling of having that rigid, extra painful body that he had had for so long. He remembered the sensation and the memory of feeling that way. He tried to find his voice but he couldn’t. Choking in fear was also an awful sensation. He didn’t realise he was working his mouth again, opening it and closing it without anything coming out, while grappling the sheets with his bony fingers. 

Concern washed over Harry’s face. No, no. Draco shouldn’t be feeling threatened, and he didn’t want to ruin the beautiful ease they had just had. “No anal Draco don’t worry, I wasn’t thinking of that. And I wouldn’t try anything you didn’t want anyway. I was going to go down on you, if that’s ok.”

Oh. Draco visibly relaxed. Harry loved reading him and pleasing him accordingly. He was fascinating to watch. Draco took him outside of himself. Draco considered the prospect. Harry’s mouth…down there…before he knew what was happening he experienced the most divine sensation, like silk. Harry’s expert tongue, held softly, not rigidly, was licking him persistently, lapping him up. Draco closed his eyes and leaned his head back, moaning. Now he really did have a reason to grip the sheets. Harry kept going. Draco didn’t think it could get better, but again before he was prepared Harry was actually licking his hole, licking the walls of it as far as he could reach with his tongue. It was divine! And again there was the element of being soothed, as if Harry’s tongue were a custom made balm. It was wonderfully wet and so, so soft. Then Harry was fucking him with his tongue and Draco felt hypersensitive. He didn’t know whether to clench or relax and that was the great thing about it. Recently, he had found his hips moving during sex, and Harry loved and encouraged this like crazy. That’s what he couldn’t help but do now; slowly, slowly rock his hips to meet the sensation of Harry’s wicked mouth. He could have gotten used to being fucked by Harry’s tongue, oh yes, he could have easily come that way, but then Harry’s tongue moved up in one big lick to his clit and Draco groaned in pleasure from the bottom of his being. Harry did a lot of wonderful, maddeningly pleasurable things to him, and this beat every single one. Draco heard Harry let out a low chuckle as if he were thinking, I knew that he would love that. Draco was monetarily thrown by the idea of Harry doing this to others, confused, hurt, he must have to gain skill, but then Harry began to suck his clit with just the right amount of pressure, with full lips.

“Yes,” Draco moaned, stretching out the word. His clit felt right about ready to explode. This excruciating sensation dragged on until Draco finally came with a raw scream. Draco had to gather his bearings afterwards, he felt dizzy. That had been a mind blowing orgasm. He felt so tender down there, and a little cold now with Harry’s saliva drying on him, but he tried to gather his body that felt like jelly together and scramble down, to blow Harry. He wanted to, and it was his duty, and he had to repay Harry, for that. 

“No,” Harry said, grabbing his arms. They made their way under the covers and Harry was kissing him, with *that* mouth, and it was dirty, and naughty, and not unenjoyable. Draco was kissing Harry with an abandon that Harry had never seen, and he loved it. Draco was all arms and mouth and urgency, and it was sweetly juxtaposed to his actual weakness. Harry was the stronger party, indulging him. 

“How do you feel down there?” Harry asked.

“S-sensitive,” Draco said. He hadn’t wanted to say anything negative so he settled on that. 

“No sex then. Rub me. I mean, please. If that’s ok.”

Draco took a moment to notice that Harry didn’t just ask for sex. If he had done he knew that Draco would have just complied, and it would have been no good just asking him because Draco would have agreed anyway. He had had to sensitively gauge the situation. Draco took Harry’s thick cock in his hand, which he tried to discreetly spit in, feeling very embarrassed at doing so, and began to rub Harry.

“Take your time,” Harry breathed.

That’s how the afternoon passed, with them kissing, and Draco rubbing Harry, and enjoying the feeling of Harry’s need against him and his desire for Draco. 

Draco became nervous in crowds. In The Louvre, he kept looking all around him wildly, and jumping out of his skin every time someone bumped into him, which was obviously be often. In turn this made people look at him strangely, which reduced his confidence even more, made him sadder, and made their time together feel strained. Draco would make very high sounds of panic at the back of his throat. He kept looking at Harry desperately, and Harry had promised himself before that he would keep that look off Draco’s face. After a few difficult days of sightseeing, where Draco tried his best to deny that anything was wrong because he was just so grateful and didn’t want to make a fuss and knew he was in the wrong, Harry thought to visit places at night. Harry would simply apparate them in, (or get them in somehow), and they would have all the time in the world it felt, or at least, all the time till morning which seemed to feel the same amount, too look around and appreciate art, or old buildings, or wherever they had happened to be. Any wards, magical or otherwise, were no match for Harry, and Draco could see that he enjoyed the challenge of getting into places. Draco liked seeing Harry’s childlike enjoyment and freedom, a little of it seemed to rub off on him. Harry was just *fun*. Harry in turn enjoyed finding out that Draco had a keen appreciation for history and artefacts, and seemed to know enough about the two to rival Hermione. Harry thought Draco’s thoughtful, Ravenclaw look was sexy, and respect inspiring. If Draco hadn’t been in Slytherin, there would be no doubt that he’d be in Ravenclaw. Since he seemed such a match for Ravenclaw at times, it showed how much of a Syltherin he really was. Draco seemed to absorb the knowledge of everything they went to see and be able to recall it perfectly, while it went in one ear of Harry’s and out the other. Harry thought that Draco had a fascinating mind. He imagined it like a great library, with books constantly being added to reinforce the old. 

One night Harry thought, I should ask him to marry me. It seemed like the most obvious progression for them, and he didn’t want to admit it for fear of being accused of being old fashioned, but he thought that two people should be married before they had children. They owned the unity to their children. Besides that he knew he would be with Draco forever, so why not get married? Why not claim him as his own and send the obvious signal? No one would doubt their love if they were married. At least, they would have a harder time doing so. I won’t ask him to marry me here, Harry thought. He might expect it. Well, I doubt he’s expecting me to propose to him, but if he was expecting it, he would expect me to do it here. Doing it here is too obvious, people would think, oh, typical bold and brash Harry proposed in Paris. It’s a cliché. I’ll wait till we get back and do it in the home that’s precious to us, the home where we’ve loved each other and built something…

Harry didn’t know many gay wizards. Dumbledore had been openly gay, but there was so much controversy concerning the war in relation to Dumbledore that his sexuality, which would have usually been splattered all over the papers, seemed trivial. The tabloid papers, which Harry thought of as no one caring about, had written nasty, sneery things about Dumbledore and Grindelward, but overall, the coverage of the relationship wasn’t too much. Any coverage was too much to Harry to be honest. Did he know any other gay wizards? Shakelbolt was gay, but that man carried himself with such stoic, indisputable dignity that it had seemed almost awkward for anyone to talk about his sexuality. Maybe this was because being gay was also a big taboo, partly because of the poisonous, over spilling background beliefs of the purebloods. They made Harry sick, and fill with rage. It seemed to Harry that you could say that you were gay if you were willing to put up with slander and were so rich and powerful that it didn’t affect your life, but most wizards were just too scared to. It just made everything a little bit more difficult. Harry only knew two gay wizards, and they were two of the most powerful wizards he had ever known. They could afford to be out. It was telling that Harry couldn’t think of a single wizards at the bottom of the employment ladder that had come out…

Also, hadn’t Dumbledore and Shakelbolt had a thing at some point? With the relationship that Harry was in, thoughts of sexuality were at the forefront of his mind. And he didn’t even want to *think* about what would happen when the press found out. He was adamant that they wouldn’t. Hermione said that this was unrealistic, but Harry’s life was unrealistic. Hermione was acting weird these days…

In their last few days Harry and Draco went to the Eiffel tower; Harry apparated Draco to the very top, Draco was terrified, and so naturally held onto Harry as hard as he could, which Harry enjoyed. He couldn’t get enough of sensing this kind of need from Draco. He loved it when Draco pressed his face into Harry’s neck, knowing that because of Draco’s terror of intimacy this was a very un-Draco thing to do, but knowing that Draco did it because he wanted or needed to badly enough. He also loved it when Draco made little whimpering noises of fear, knowing that this was Draco trying to hold back, trying to be brave. Draco’s warm, soft lips pressed unintentionally against Harry’s neck and it made Harry absolutely wild; he had to remember to stay in control. Harry surprised Draco with little gifts whenever he could and Draco was innocently delighted, Harry knew that he didn’t expect anything, let alone gifts. Harry had never known anyone to be so happy at little kindnesses, except maybe himself. Because he knew what it was to be loved when he thought loved wasn’t available, he wanted to make Draco feel loved. What Harry meant by little gifts were in fact priceless and rare gems and magical trinkets. Sure they could fit into your pocket, but they valued at more than a top end broom. He didn’t tell Draco though, because Draco would start worrying, and that would ruin the joy of the gift giving. 

Packing up felt slightly awkward and emotional. Harry could see Draco walking about, trying to do what he had to do, looking a little lost and wistful.   
“It’s ok,” Harry said, rubbing Dr  
aco’s back, and then pulling his head into an embrace. Draco smiled appreciatively. 

When they were done, Harry summoned Dobby to apparate all of their luggage back. In their doorway, Harry scooped up all of the mail (some fell back onto the floor) and all of the Daily Prophets that they had missed. He put the kettle on and thought, it’s so good to be back, and, I sure can get used to a life in the company of Draco. Then he thought of his son. Then he smiled. Then, his smile dropped off his face horribly. He could see his face on one of the Prophets he had just picked up, and his face in the papers was never a good sign, and it never, ever, made him happy. But he was always in the papers, right? He grabbed it just to find out, just as Draco came up behind him. 

“No,” Harry said, his stomach sinking. There were pictures of him and Draco at the Cannons’ game, and what’s more, they had worked out who Draco was despite his changed appearance. There were pictures of them in France, awful, paparazzi shots of moments that had been wonderful and so felt all the more awful to see through the perspective of someone who wanted to hurt, mock and make money off them. There were all sorts of headlines: POTTER TAKES UP WITH DEATH EATER: NOT THE SAVIOR WE THOUGHT HE WAS? POTTER’S DARK SECRET WITH THE DARK MARK! POTTER DISGRACES NAME AND REPUTATION! His supposedly despicable relationship with Draco was putting all of his politics and associations into disrepute, there were commentaries from people who had been against him for years writing pieces against him with glee…

Through his shock Harry knew that he had to protect Draco, that Draco must not see such toxic, inflammatory things, that his cautiously budding confidence couldn’t take being felled this way, but it was too late, because while Harry had been absorbing the horror, Draco had too, and had backed away from Harry with wide eyes, now clutching at the surfaces behind him with white knuckles, panic-breathing and shaking while at the same time trying, and failing, to control his reaction.

“Draco…” Harry began, wanting to fix things so badly but being very aware that they were so shattered. 

As Harry approached to comfort Draco, it made Draco break further, and he began to cry. “Why? Why?” He asked Harry. Harry understood. Draco meant, why couldn’t they have something good that would last? Why weren’t they finally allowed respite? Draco was looking around as if he was searching for an answer, and he kept wiping his nose on his sleeve, which disturbed Harry, as it was such an un-Draco thing to do. Draco finally resigned, allowed Harry to hold him. The headlines kept flashing through his mind, an endless, cruel reel. People thought that Harry was tainted by his existence, that their relationship was sick…well, Draco had thought those things in the beginning, but he had allowed himself to hope that he was wrong. He was crushed to have his hopes dashed, he should have known that they would be. One of his most pressing concerns was how he could bring his son up in this world of hate and intolerance. He sobbed into Harry’s shoulder, feeling like he deserved it less than ever, feeling like his time was borrowed with Harry, like he had done at the beginning of the relationship, and he hated it, because he knew that he needed, no, loved Harry. 

As Harry held onto Draco he couldn’t think of the news of him and Draco in the media as an accident. He was unwilling to accept it. All he could think was, who’s done this to us? To think that he had been about to propose to Draco. Despite Harry's best efforts, their relationship seemed to be permanently bitter sweet. The higher they went, the lower they were pulled. Harry again had the feeling that the relationship was bigger than him, that he didn't have all of the answes, and he didn't like this feelign because he wanted to be in control, he wanted to be in charge, he wanted to fix Draco, and himself...


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, as ever, let me know what you think, I hope you enjoy! Thank you so much for the kudos, comments and encouragement. Btw the comments make me reflect on the story, and help me shape it :). Also, I'm imagining Hermione in this story as THE flawless Emma Watson, and probably will imagine Hermione this way in any HP story that I write. Also, I'm really sorry about typos and awkward sentence structure, it's 'cause the 2nd half of this was slightly rushed as I had real life stuff to get through! But if it's anything too glaring let me know and I can fix it!
> 
> Willow XX

Chapter 8

Here they were again in depressive stalemate, Harry thought. And he had thought things were getting better. They *had* been getting better.

Draco’s weight dropped again, like a physical manifestation of his regression. He just couldn’t eat anything because he felt he didn’t deserve anything, as well as feeling like food made him sick. This was down to many reasons, from the body shock of being pregnant to anxiety. This time round, Harry wasn’t sweet, begging and pleading. He was obtuse and unforgiving, because he felt that Draco’s eating habits was hurting their baby.

Look how much more he cares for our child that for me, Draco thought. Not that it mattered of course, Draco had expected it. Their child was much more important than him anyway. Draco didn’t want it hurt either, couldn’t Harry understand? Harry would never know what it was to carry a child, to share not just words and sentiment which Harry was so good at, but body and blood – the hardest things to share.

Draco knew too well that your body was the only things to share when there was nothing left. Harry was fuelled with righteous anger, and all it did was snap snap snap at Draco, shattering the possibility of peace for both of them without any results. This was one such morning.

“Draco how many times do I have to tell you that you have to eat, not just for your own survival but for that of our child?” Draco couldn’t tell if Harry sounded angry or exhausted; his voice was a perfectly between the two.

“H-h-h-” Draco was again having trouble getting his words out because he felt useless and backed into a corner. “Harry I-I’m so sorry. I, I so wish that I could, but I feel I can’t-”

“What do you mean you *can’t*?” Harry said mockingly. Draco shrank back like he had been slapped.

“I mean I physically can’t swallow, I feel like I’m choking, like my throat is swollen, like I’m going to throw up-”

“Well you have no problem swallowing other things,” Harry spat, and they both felt the shock of his comment. That’s the worst thing I’ve said in my life, Harry thought.

Draco stared at him with wide eyes, betrayed, then looked away, as if trying and failing to process Harry’s words. A line had been crossed with Harry’s comment. Draco realised he had always relied on a certain level of respect from Harry (as Harry had of himself), funny how he was only aware of it when it was gone. Once again Draco thought, he could do anything to me, he could chew me up and spit me out, and I can’t do anything about it. He hadn’t thought this in a while.

Draco pushed away the cold porridge in front of him and began to cry, his back hunched and shuddering.

We are not ready for a baby at all, Harry thought. I would have used protection…

“Why do you want to hurt our child?” Harry demanded.

“I don’t!” Draco shouted through his tears with his wet, salty, swollen lips. “I want it to do well just as much as you do, maybe more!”

“It? ‘it’?! That says it all! James is not an it!”

“I never considered termination! I’ve always wanted children!”

“Well congratulations! You decided not to kill him STRAIGHT AWAY!” Harry bellowed, slapping the table intimidatingly in front of Draco and making him jump.

Harry stormed out of the kitchen. Had he been crying as he left, trying not to let his tears show? Could a man who had been desperate for children and a family when he hadn't had one be forgiven for harsh words spoken now, as he felt his opportunity, bought into with all his hope, could be snatched away?

When you ate as little as Draco did, you didn’t really feel hungry anymore, just high in a bad way, as if you’re in a dream and you’d rather wake up. He was sleepy and cold. Draco’s thin hands were always freezing. Harry had managed to make Draco feel like a slut. Well, Draco knew he was a slut, it was just that he had been starting to forget.

***

The negative media raged like a wildfire through their lives. Awful people finally had something to write about Harry, who had successfully kept to himself all of these years, and they did so with a fever. And the story *was* scandalous; school enemies, total opposites, in a relationship together?! There were endless things to analyse, like what Draco’s mother would think of it (she was in Azkaban) and what Draco’s father would have thought of it, if he were alive. As spiteful as the journalists were, they had managed to capture Lucius’s sentiments well. Their lives didn’t feel scandalous to Harry and Draco, who were simply living it rather than making it exotic, but then everyone’s life was exotic if you laid bare its details and made the concerned ‘celebrities’.

Harry and Draco hadn’t been communicating much, which made Harry realise that he had always been the one to approach Draco for interaction, apart from the few times when Draco hadn’t been able to stand being in a different room from Harry at night. Draco sorely missed Harry’s kisses and touches, they had been sustenance to him. He grew sicker and wider in his second trimester. He tried to ignore his strange changing body that horrified him.

But Harry was a person that relied on and lived for sex. Sex had been there for him, brutal and uncomplicated, with Cedric. It was how he had gotten through school and all of the challenges he had faced. He needed it now, with the problems that he was going through with Draco that he didn’t know how to solve. He needed it’s certainty, and to feel in control by having it. Strangely he needed to have it with Draco, the one he was having problems with.

That night Harry tossed and turned in his bed. He wanted to touch himself but couldn’t be bothered, and was for some reason repelled from doing so. He wanted Draco, wanted him like he had always wanted him, loved him, but was also angry, and underneath all of his emotions, scared. He got up as if in a dream and went to Draco, happy with his decisiveness. Silently he went to Draco’s room. Frustratingly Draco seemed to be wearing just about every item of clothing he owned. He was standing facing the window, swaddled up in socks, jogging bottoms and a thick, cable knit jumper.

Draco yelped and half jumped in terror has he felt not just Harry, but Harry fully nude behind him. Suddenly he could feel Harry’s urgent cock pressing awkwardly into him. 'No' was his first thought, but then he became uncertain when wondering if sex with Harry meant affection. Draco had been too afraid to approach Harry while they were uncommunicative, he felt as if he was holding onto Harry by a thread and was scared that if he approached Harry, Harry would finally cut Draco off for good. Conversely he felt guilty for not approaching Harry and showing that he cared.

Harry wasn’t saying anything – this made Draco feel something wasn’t right. “Harry, I’m glad to…you know…well, be close to you again,” Draco said shyly, knowing that he souded dumb but wanting Harry to know.

Harry didn’t say anything, and this really scared Draco. He seemed to breathe Draco in, long and hard, and then, his movement as sudden as a snake pouncing, he spun Draco around. He seemed on a mission or in a trance. When Harry was naked he didn’t seem naked, he seemed nude, he had so much confidence where Draco had none. Draco blushed as he enjoyed the sight of Harry’s body amidst his confusion, he had missed it.

Harry began stripping Draco, and Draco felt like he was being whittled down to the bone. Harry looked angry and Draco became scared to speak out, to do anything, to even be in the moment. He just stood there, trying to hold his clothes onto him unsuccessfully with his rigidity. Draco had a fantasy of being allowed to wear one of his big, mid-thigh length t-shirts to bed with socks, slipping his pants off at the last minute after a lot of kissing and comfort.

He loved this fantasy, it seemed pure and innocent compared to what was happening to him. He was all but naked, and shivering. Instinctually he clamped both hands over his private parts. He so hoped Harry wouldn’t hurt him. Harry yanked Draco’s small briefs aggressively and painfully off. Now blood was pounding in Draco’s ears, he was petrified. All he hoped for now was to pass out, and bitterly he remembered how he used to hope for that, knowing that hoping for anything else would be vain.

As always Draco felt so, so self-conscious, so hateful of his body, and something new, something far worse. He felt heartbroken that he had lost the only good thing in his life; Harry. He was already silently crying as he always did, and Harry knew he was. He just ignored it because Draco was always crying. I have the baby, Draco thought. Draco’s belly was showing, maybe more than it was meant to, because of how thin he was. He was cripplingly self-conscious of that too, not because he was ashamed of his baby, but because he thought that his own body was horrible, and what was worse was that it was always changing.

How could he control it or understand it or get used to it if it was always changing? Draco felt trapped by it, and he felt he didn’t know what his identity was because of it. He would have tried to hide it, but Harry had already stripped him mercilessly nude and it was full daylight. Besides, he was trying to protect himself… *down there*, not that he would be able to do anything at all if Harry became violent. He wouldn’t, Draco tried to reassure himself. Because of the baby. He wouldn’t hurt the baby.

Harry was made even more furious when he noticed Draco’s thinness. How could Draco do this? How could he hurt their baby? How could Draco hurt the thing that Harry had always wanted? Besides it was just wrong, Draco was a parent. He should be putting his own problems after James. Harry tried not to think about how beautiful Draco looked pregnant, how the sight of his stomach awed, humbled, inspired and aroused him. Draco’s hands were again clamped between his legs, an echo of when they had first met, and this feeling of a lack of progress and the sight of the pathetic display in general further incensed Harry.

“Have it as you will,” Harry growled, and pushed Draco towards the bed from the back of his neck. He arranged Draco in the doggy position on the bed. He had thought about fucking Draco on the floor but chose the bed for his own comfort. Draco’s face was stuffed into the covers and his arse was up in the air. He hated this, he was so exposed, so humiliated, he had never liked this position because he had always wanted to be able to see Harry, and he felt so vulnerable like this.

“Oh for goodness sake, hands away from between your legs!” Harry snapped. He spelled Draco’s hands to either side of head. That’s when Draco began to scream. To have anyone, anyone at all rape him was horrific, but worse of all was to have the man that he loved do it to him. Harry was taking something from him that he would have given. He was also using magic against Draco which felt so awful, because he was using it as a weapon, and pointing out that Draco didn’t have any.

Harry snarled and lowered his head to lick Draco’s arsehole. Draco was never sure that he liked his act because it made him feel embarrassed. Well it felt more to Draco like he was eating it; he was biting, licking, and he was lapping up Draco’s pussy hungrily and angrily from behind which made Draco clench involuntarily into that immensely pleasurable ache. He moaned. Harry could taste Draco’s delicious sweet wetness.

“This’ll teach you,” Harry muttered to himself, and then in a different tone, “Draco, I think we both need this.”  
Draco had no idea what Harry was talking about, he was so alarmed, and numb and sad and disbelieving at the same time. The truth was that he had no idea what to feel in his body or his mind. He had the feeling again that he wanted to escape, to be at peace, which of course only meant suicide –

And then Harry slammed into Draco’s arsehole with his huge cock and all his force, and Draco, in his unexpecting, unlubricated state, screamed. He couldn’t even make fists in pain because of Harry’s magic.  
Harry had closed his eyes when he had entered Draco, and now looked down, alarmed at Draco’s scream, to find that he had wrong-holed Draco.

“Oh,” Harry said dully. This was the worst time for this to have happened. Draco continued to scream, breathlessly and shrilly, as if even he couldn’t control the sound. The elves won’t come, Draco thought. They know, no, think, I’m safe when I’m with Harry. Harry noticed that Draco’s arsehole had split slightly, the way it often can do when one has sex like this, but it didn’t look too bad, although Draco was bleeding. He tried to pull out of Draco as carefully as he could, only to slam into his vagina, again, again, without all of the lubricant that they usually use. Draco wasn’t quite screaming now, but he was making noises of pain. God, Harry was just fucking him too hard and there was no space for him to feel comfortable or get into a rhythm or think. This time he definitely didn’t want to move his hips. He wanted Harry to stop. He felt uncomfortable and sore and tried to hold himself as stiffly as possible to minimise pain.

“Arch your back,” Harry said in his normal voice, and Draco did as he was told. He could try and pretend that they were having sex like they did when they had been in love. Draco thought that he still was in love with Harry, and then he felt angry at both of them. How could he be in love with a man that was doing this to him? And how could Harry, who had said he loved Draco do this to him?

Harry was smacking Draco’s arse cheeks and they were starting to sting badly. Draco was sobbing, shouting and making all sorts of noises. He knew from past experience that it would be hard to sit later.

Please come, Draco was thinking. Please just come. This too, was a depressingly familiar thought. But come for what? Come so Draco could have a few moments of peace before this happened again? Well, if that’s all he had to look forward to, then so be it. But he could kill himself…

Finally, after Draco’s existence became wordless and he stopped being able to tell how much time had passed and how much longer there was to go, Harry came thickly inside of him. It filled Draco up reassuringly and repulsed him at the same time. This was what he was good for, the seed inside him was all he could have. Harry hadn’t tried to pleasure him, but of course Draco hadn’t expected him too. Harry pulled out of him carelessly and Draco suffered another humiliation in his endless list of humiliations; being exposed and having seed and blood drip out of him. Draco heard Harry leave the room, and exhaled in relief.

The air was nice on his sore behind, but he was also very cold. He couldn’t move because of the spells on his hands. Should he beg, or would that lead to further punishment? Wait, why on earth did he care? Why was he trying so hard to survive again, like he had at the beginning when he first became Voldermort’s plaything? He couldn’t come down to his front because of the baby.

After an hour Harry ran back into the room and took the spell of Draco’s arms. He stank of whiskey.

“I’msosorryIforgot!” Harry said, and burped. Draco said nothing, but very slowly, and in as bowed and crouched a way as possible, with his head lowered and not meeting Harry’s eyes, he got under the covers and pulled them right up to his eyes as he curled into a ball. He glanced at Harry a few times in terror and realising that Harry was looking at him, looked away quickly. He was so sore and in pain.

Harry was getting a horrible feeling that he had done something wrong, but he hadn’t, had he? That was what sex was like when you were angry with your partner, and usually things were better after a bit of rough sex. If Harry had allowed himself to be distracted by Draco’s breath taking beauty and the fact that he wanted to hold him and tell him that he loved him, he would be forgiving Draco hurting James, which he would not do. Besides he hadn’t wanted to give in. Harry thought that the worst possible thing that could be done to him was to have his child hurt. Besides Draco had wanted him, hadn’t he? Harry was sure of it.

At the beginning when Harry had come into the room he looked at Harry as if he desired him, and he hadn’t said ‘no’ or ‘stop’ at any point, which of course Harry would have. Harry knew they had enough trust between them by now for Draco to be comfortable enough to decline sex. Besides being fucked hard had always helped Harry, he remembered how when he had had thoughts of Voldermort and schoolwork and the Dursleys going round and round in his head Cedric would pound him, and then Harry could not think about anything, and enjoy the pleasurable pain.

Harry spelled Draco clean and healed over the covers. He remembered that he had some Jack Daniel’s honey whiskey stashed away downstairs, and felt titillated at this prospect. He had never been able to drink from the Dursley’s liquor cabinet (though he had sorely wanted to escape life with them, and eventually started smoking weed), but this hadn’t stopped Vernon accusing him of drinking form his stash, just so he could pick a fight with Harry and beat him. Watch it now, Harry thought. Don’t start getting fucked up over memories of the Dursleys. So drinking had always been this naughty thing that he hadn’t been allowed to do, and as a result he wanted to do more of it because it felt exciting to him. He thought he ought to leave Draco to at least rest if he wasn’t going to eat anything. Besides he was still angry at him.

As Harry stumbled down the stairs, probably to drink more, Draco could feel the remnants of the tingling feeling of being healed, and hated it because it reminded him of terrible things.

***

Draco had discovered that being hurt by someone you care about was far worse than being hurt by someone you didn’t care about. He felt more tired than he ever had in his life, more tired than when he had first started living with Harry and had to painfully learn to hope, only to have his hope in tatters now. He was useless and ugly if even someone like Harry wanted to rape him. This time he would make sure he wouldn’t come back. Feeling so numb was terrifying. The more scared and depressed Draco became, the more dumb he felt he became. By this he meant irrational, and when he was this way he stopped thinking in words, and started experiencing everything in sensations, of the negative kind that was.

He didn’t know what he was. Male or female, mother or father, loved or hated. Actually, he knew without doubt that he was hated. Harry would be down stairs passed out, and when he woke it would thankfully be too late.

Cutting his wrists was so satisfying, and he even did it a bit jaggedly deliberately. Cutting himself and seeing the confirmation of the blood felt good after always being healed by others and having no control over his body. They took away his rights. He didn’t have the ability to heal himself, because as a squib in the wizarding world he was a second class citizen, but he did have the power to take his own life. Relief flooded him. He felt comfortable for once. As always one sensation reminded him of memories in which he had felt such a sensation before, and now he thought of being in Harry’s arms with both of them having had an orgasm, just holding each other in a state between sleep and being awake. So that’s why they called in a petit mort… It was to thoughts of Harry that Draco faded away.

***

Harry snapped awake, feeling like shit the way one does after a night of heavy drinking. He thought he’d be sick and knew he’d felt better once he actually was sick. His head pounded. What had he been thinking by having sex yesterday anyway? He should either try harder or break up with Draco, but he didn’t know if he had the strength for either. He staggered up to check on Draco, and had a bad sinking feeling when he echoed himself approaching the bathroom before to find that Draco had self-harmed in an attempt to remove the dark mark.

The sight of Draco in the tub, white as the tiles behind him, felt like a physical knock at the back of Harry’s head. Seeing his bump, his child, James breaking the water and visible because of its size felt like a knife in Harry’s cut. He cried out in pain like an animal and moved to call a medi-cart as quickly as possible, the trembling of his hands wasting precious, precious time. His life with Draco felt so repetitive, it eerily mimicked itself over and over.

***

Harry felt dirty. He hadn’t showered in three days, but that’s because he had been sat outside Draco’s hospital room. He was outside rather than inside because Draco had been unconscious, and they hadn’t been able to ask him if he consented to Harry visiting him.

“Well of course he consents,” Harry had spluttered at the doctors. He *was* the one paying them all thousands of galleons, “I’m his boyfriend, no fuck that, his partner. We’re having a child together!”

Pomfrey’s subjects had looked away awkwardly at that, but Pomfrey had put Harry’s liquor stinking breath and Draco’s suicide attempt whilst pregnant together, and it added up to a lawsuit.

“Terrible thing Potter,” She began, taking her glasses off to wipe them with a corner of her stuffy blouse, “I’m sure you’ll understand. It all looks a bit fishy, if you don’t mind me saying so. We ran diagnostics as you should have known we’d do, and he was bleeding form his rectum, with internal bruising in both orifices.” Because Pomfrey was such a clinical doctor, she could say such phrases that would have made anyone blush quite matter of factly.

“Yeah, and so? These things happen when people have sex. You should know that.”

“Yes that’s true,” Poppy conceded, looking at a corner of the ceiling thoughtfully, and Harry groaned as he saw on her face that she wanted to get into the wider conversation about medical bruising. “But this coupled with the suicide…let me put it this way Potter, er, Mr Potter. How long after intercourse did Malfoy, pardon me, Mr Malfoy make an attempt on his life? Goblin lawyers Mr Potter, they’ll take everything you’ve got. I remember a case in 1976 when-”

“I don’t give a shit!” Harry said, pounding, the wall with his fist. They both paused to look at the perfect first-shaped hole in the wall Harry’s hand had made that was due to his magic rather than his strength. “I want to see my partner.”

“Say that Malfoy there doesn’t want to see you and we let you see him, we could be liable to be sued Mr Potter. Back and forth to The Ministry for hearings Mr Potter, terrible thing, as I said. I’ve got a practice to run. However, since we’ve a, you know, you’re a loyal patient and er, well I mean that is to say that I know you…” It was funny that Pomfrey only became awkward while she was trying to be friendly.  
“Yeah we’re friends of sorts, we used to know each other, the elixir and everything, I get you,” Harry said, trying to move the conversation along.

“Yes, well precisely,”Pomfrey said, putting her glasses back on. Harry thought that this was Pomfrey trying to say she would allow him to visit Draco. Instead, she got out a small coloured card and handed it Harry.

“Medical associate of mine. Runs a rehabilitation facility for potion addicts.”

“And I want this rather than a chance to visit my lover and child because…?” Harry said, flummoxed by the mad woman.

“Well Potter, they run a ward for al-co-hol-ics,” Pomfrey said, making sure she got the word right. “Interesting stuff actually, but I’ve always been more interested in the biology. Run by a charming woman raised in a muggle family. G60,000 a year, but who could put a price…and if you get some help who knows, you and Malfoy could er…well I can’t say I know much about love…”

Harry realised the implications of what she was saying, and felt like screaming. Pomfrey was still dithering on.

“And that untrained magic of yours Potter! My God! Simply fascinating. There’s a register of the most powerful wizards…you ought to submit yourself for tests, think what the world could do with that knowledge, what medicine could do.”

Harry could have punched Pomfrey in the face. Shouting in frustration, he slapped the damn card against the wall with all his force, where it ceased to be a card, but became a perfect painting of the card on the wall at the same angle that Harry had slapped it on. His hand stung.  
Pomfrey slowly slid her glasses down her nose to peer at the painting, and then straightened up to regard Harry grimly. “True power lies somewhere between rage and serenity,” she said. She refused to be intimidated by broken Potter with his broken love and his mad rage. “I never had a son,” Pomfrey went on, “Seems to me like Malfoy’s suffered a lot of pain.” Then she nimbly sidestepped Harry, and walked away. Harry took out a pocket sized bottle of Gordon’s dry gin, and took a swig. When one was drunk, you didn’t want that drunkenness to end.

***

Draco woke with great disappointment. He had felt himself rising to the surface of himself and had tried to stop this from happening, but it was no use. He woke back into the night mare of his life, in alien surroundings, with medi staff in white robes walking about purposefully. All he was wearing was a thin hospital gown. He shivered.

“Would you like a blanket?” A voice from somewhere asked. Draco shrunk away. He couldn’t find his voice. He wondered if he was going to be hurt in this facility.

“He’s awake, call the head,” Another voice said. The room was too white. It was creepy. Draco’s wrists were so thin they looked as if they could be snapped easily. They also had horrible, jagged, swollen scars running along them. Everything was a mess. He had no idea how to fix or end his life effectively.

Madame Pomfrey came into the room. Again Draco shrank back, afraid that he could be hurt. He just wanted an end to his pain, was this too much to ask? If his lover could hurt him, then anyone could.

“Ah Mr Malfoy,” Pomfrey began, pushing up her glasses. She was handed a some files. “I see you’re awake. I must say we didn’t do much but provide you with after care and rehydrate you. We certainly didn’t keep you alive. We have no idea what did.” There was a pause. A nurse said something to Pomfrey and she nodded sagely.

“I’ve been told you’ve become completely non-verbal again. Well, that’s not my department. I have a theory about what kept you alive though, and I think it’s in your stomach. We know that your son’s magical signature is already abnormally strong at five months, so perhaps a survival instinct kicked in for him. We realise that you’re anorexic, so we’ve been feeding and rehydrating you intravenously. I’m also qualified to apparate food and nutrients inside your body. What else? Ah, also, he’s a big boy, so be prepared for that. Miss Lovegood will evaluate you later to see if you need to be placed inside a psychiatric unit, but that’s her business. Now, do you wish Harry Potter to be permitted to see you?”

Draco shook his head.

“Very well. See? Always better to ask,” She said to a nurse. “Do you wish to press charges against Harry Potter?”

Draco shook his head again.

“Very well, very well. We’ll leave to rest.” Pomfrey left, along with the nurses that all looked the same, leaving Draco in the too quiet, too clean room. Draco didn’t want to be alone with himself, who he loathed, but he didn’t want company either. He knew what he wanted, and he hadn’t been able to achieve it, because his every act was a failure. Pomfrey thought that his child had saved him. Draco didn’t know what to make of this. He knew that the notion made him start feeling again when he couldn’t afford to feel.

SHOCK AT POTTER’S SECRET SEXUALITY! Was an article in one magazine in the hospital shop, while FRIEND’S DISSAPROVE OF POTTER’S DANGEROUS LIASONS was another. Harry’s problems were so bad now that the media attention didn’t really bother him by comparison, but it had been what had triggered the decline of their relationship. Harry bought some coffee and food that tasted of cardboard and was going to go back upstairs and resume his vigil, when he came face to face with Luna.

“Hullo Harry.”

“Hi Luna,” Harry said in a cracked voice. The coffee in his hand was burning it, but he didn’t care.

“This is what happens when you miss appointments,” Luna said in her mild Irish lilt. “I got worried after two were missed.”

“He tried to kill himself Luna,” Harry said, his eyes very said. Saying it was like dropping a brick that he had been holding to his chest.

“Yes I know, I’m here to evaluate him. Shall we go upstairs?”

They made their way up silently together. “What will happen after you evaluate him?”

“He’ll either have to go into psychiatric care, or he’ll be able to go home, but it would have to be under the condition that he attends all his counselling, “Luna said all this in in a human, genuinely concerned way.

Harry hesitated outside Draco’s room. “Err, I don’t think I’m allowed,” He said embarrassedly.

Confusion appeared on Luna’s face. “Oh, ok. It seems like bad things are happening between you and Draco. You should come to your sessions so things don’t build up and really big problems that can’t be reversed don’t happen. Ok, see you a bit later then.”

“Hello,” Luna said nicely as she entered Draco’s room. There was nothing that was desperately trying about her, as if she had an agenda that she wanted to force Draco into. And quite simply she treated him nicely, not like he was a freak.

She sat down in a chair next to Draco, not too close and not too far. Draco jerked away instinctually and the tubes going inside him, which he didn’t like to look at because they nauseated him, tugged painfully.

“Ok Draco, I’ve been told that you tried to kill yourself, and I was wondering if you wanted or could tell me a little bit about why you tried to, and the events that lead up to it. Because I haven’t seen you for a while I don’t know what’s going on. But if I do I’ll be able to help you, even if you think that helping you isn’t possible.”

How did she know that he thought that? Draco thought. His mouth felt dry. He probably shouldn’t say anything as he was stupid. Besides, this was probably some sort of test. Draco looked down at his arms. They were dry and peeling. The line of his mouth turned upside down in a mark of total unhappiness. Luna waited. And waited. And waited. She didn’t wait angrily or impatiently, and she didn’t fidget. She just looked at Draco with the same, non-accusatory, mild look.

Draco picked at the blanked that was covering him. “I was punished because I was hurting his, my, the…the baby,” Draco said finally in a tiny whisper, not looking at Luna. “I know I deserved it.”

Luna could see that Draco’s hair had gone all but white with stress; it was the lightest shade of blonde she had ever seen. He was also frightfully emaciated, more so than he had been during their sessions. She needed to help get Draco better, for his own sake, for Harry’s, and for their baby’s. Luna knew that the right approach was not to question Draco, that would only make Draco think he was more wrong. What she needed to do was to lead Draco to question his own negativity.

“I see. How were you hurting the baby?” I was also important for Luna to use Draco’s terminology, to build a rapport as well as to make Draco feel validated.

Again they waited, but this time, only about twenty minutes. “I-I-I wouldn’t, c-couldn’t eat.”

“I see, thank you for telling me. Would you say you were hurting the baby directly or indirectly?”

“I-I uh,” Draco swallowed and licked his dry lips. “Both,” he said, his voice cracking.

“Ah all right, I didn’t phrase that well, I’m sorry. What I meant was, did you mean to hurt the baby?”

“No,” Draco said straight away, because it was true. He had never wanted to hurt the baby, strangely even when he was trying to commit suicide. He swallowed in guilt, which felt as corrosive as acid.

“If you didn’t mean to do it then it could be viewed differently, maybe as an accident or a mistake, couldn’t it?”

“I, ah, I, I…”

Again there was a long period of silence. “If you saw a person that was hurt cursing, would you reproach them for cursing?” Luna asked.

“N-n-n-no, well, no.”

A thought suddenly came to Draco. “Then Harry didn’t mean to rape me?”

His eyes had opened fully, and he was looking at Luna with hope. That’s probably the last scraps of hope that he has, Luna thought, collected there in his eyes. Luna’s own white eyebrows had shot up, and then come down in a frown of concern.

“Harry raped you?” She asked, remembering to keep her voice mild and gentle.

“M-m, well,” Draco coughed, and his whole frail body shook with its force, “Maybe it was an accident or a mistake.” His voice was always ever so soft.

“Did Harry hurt you?”

“Yes,” Draco whispered, and that was when his tears began to roll. He wrapped his arms around his large stomach as if to get some warmth from it.

He’s hugging all he has, Luna thought. He’s trying to comfort himself.  
“Do you love Harry?”

“Yes.”

Crying is good, Luna thought. Crying mean that he wasn’t as depressed as was possible, the state where depression was either so overwhelming or numbing that one couldn’t cry. She suspected that’s the state Draco had been prior to their conversation.

“Draco do you think you’ll trying to kill yourself again?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said through his tears.

“All right. Thank you for talking to me and answering my questions, I really appreciate that. Would you like to go back home or would you like to stay in a facility? You wouldn’t be disallowed to leave, you would be allowed to stay there until you wanted to leave.”

“I-I don’t know…” Draco said again, looking confused. I have overloaded him with information, Luna thought.

“I’ll let you think about it and come back in a day or two, how’s that?”

“I-I-I-“ Draco could feel his voice getting stuck again, so he just nodded.

Luna smiled encouragingly at him, and then left. When he spoke to Luna Draco felt that she eroded all of his convictions. It was like all of his thoughts were seeds in a pan that she threw up in the air, for them to land totally different to what they had been. He tried to rest to allow his mind to settle.

Luna was greeted with the stench of alcohol as she closed the door behind her. It made her scrunch up her nose. Harry jumped up.

“Well?” He said. “How is he?”

“Harry it was very concerning…he says you raped him.”

Harry’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “What?” He said, devastated.

“What I just said.”

“How…? We had sex the night before he tried to kill himself but I never, would never do that to anyone, let alone him, you had to believe me.”

Luna was trained to spot liars, and was also very intuitive. Harry was telling the truth.

“I believe you would never mean to, and that you think you didn’t,” She said.

“He, he looked at me like he wanted me Luna, and I wanted him! He didn’t object once!”

“Neither of those factors exclude the possibility. For example, in what manner did you have sex with him? That counts for a lot. And do you really think that after everything that has happened to him he would dare refuse sex, regardless of whether he wanted to have it or not?”

“We trust each other enough now to be able to be open, I’m sure…”

“I would counter that that’s your opinion, rather than fact. There’s a huge breakdown of communication between the two of you, which is a result of so many small misunderstandings arising from the two of you being such different characters, and it’s not helped by Draco being how he is because of what he’s suffered. I don’t even know if it’s possible to save your relationship, or whether it should be saved.”

“That’s what I’ve been thinking too,” Harry said honestly.

“But he says he loves you.”

Luna was moved against her better judgement when Harry’s face lit up at her statement. “And I love him,” Harry said with conviction.  
“You both need to come to your appointments, it’s not going to be easy and it still might not work, but there is another life involved here as well.”

“Yes. Yes I know.”

***

A few days later Harry learned that Draco had chosen to live in a psychiatric ward, and he was receiving daily therapy in group sessions and alone. Harry still hadn’t seen him. He felt so guilty, which didn’t help with his drinking, which he now did daily and in excess. He tried to push away the black word that Draco thought he was, a, a…rapist. It made his stomach turn. How could Draco have thought that he had raped Draco? Didn’t he know that no matter what, he would never do such a thing to him? Maybe their sex had come across as rape because it was rough, Harry thought in horror. But hadn’t it always been rough? Unless…unless Draco was always unhappy with it?!  
And then Harry remembered the time that Draco had asked if their sex was normal. Oh God, Harry thought in silent horror. Oh God. He’s never been happy, he’s always seen our sex as abuse and I missed the signs! But I never thought of this kind of sex as abuse when I was younger, I thought of it as cleansing…

Harry didn’t like the idea of his baby spending time in some psychiatric ward, even while in the uterus, when both his lover and the child he carried could be more than comfortable in the plentiful home that he loved to provide for them. But he had to respect Draco’s decision to show Draco that he respected Draco, especially when Draco thought that Harry had used his body without permission. And what he missed most of all was just holding Draco, smelling him, trying to get laughs out of him and being carefree with him. He didn’t know when he would be able to visit Draco so he left a note with Luna saying that Harry would meet Draco when Draco was ready. He went home to shower, shave and put the house in order.  
As he was cleaning up at home the doorbell rang.  
“I’ll get it!” He shouted so the elves would hear. It was Hermione, and she looked concerned.  
“Come in,” Harry sighed.  
Hermione was such a petite little thing. She was actually quite the exquisite beauty, but Harry treasured her role as best friend far too much to ever become involved with her. Besides it would feel incestuous, and of course there was her requited love for Ron. Hermione was also always chicly and subtly dressed. Her clothes were usually dark and monochrome. She had become quite an unexpected darling of the fashion world, and on reflection this was because she was rare; she was as much of a genius and she was graceful and beautiful. Besides, she was a poster girl for the liberal main stream media, they couldn’t get enough of her, the golden girl who was raised in a muggle family.  
Harry had always found it funny that when Hermione didn’t wear any make up, she looked about twelve years old.

Her arms were folded over her chest in concern. “How are you doing Harry?” she asked in concern. “I’m so sorry about what the papers have been writing about you, we’ve all had it happen to us but it’s happened to you more than anyone. It is awful, but it will go away.”  
Harry looked at her for a moment, and then just gave her a crushing bear hug. Hermione was surprised, but smiling, and sensing that Harry needed it, she returned the embrace.

“It’s good to see you ‘Mione,” Harry mumbled.

“You too. I’m sorry I haven’t visited more often, I really am.”

“Oh, it’s grea to see you anyway. How’s Ron, how’re the kids?”

“Fine, fine. Where’s Draco?”

“In…in a psychiatric unit,” Harry said, his lip wobbling. His eyes were stinging for some reason. He tried to look away, and blinked vigorously. “He, he’s also pregnant Hermione. It’s a boy.”

Hermione covered her mouth in shock. That’s how the afternoon passed, then talking, analysing, and drinking tea. Hermione had looked worried at all of the discarded bottles, but hadn’t said anything. There was something thin and worried about Hermione as well.

“Are you ok?” Harry asked her. “You seem…worried, elsewhere.”

“I’m fine,” She smiled. The smile seemed forced.

“Someone tipped us off to the media…and I think it’s someone in our circle, because well, who else knew? And it’s not like any of you guys would have mentioned it to someone, unless it was deliberate. It’s just not the stuff of casual conversation.”

“Someone may have tipped you off, but it would have happened sooner or later anyway.”

“Yeah but it’s important, it’s important to know if the people in my life are trying to hurt me and Draco, and if one or some of them are not my friends.”

“Yes. Harry, you’re going to have a baby! That’s such incredible news.”

“It’s the best news I’ve ever had. But it’s hard to be happy when my child and partner are in a psychiatric ward.”  
They talked a little more of Hermione and her children and work, and Ron, and when she had last seen their mutual friends and how they were.

Hermione had recently delivered a speech on gender equality at The Ministry of Magic entitled 'He for She' which soudned interesting and which she stated teling Harry about. Due to the fame they gained for being friends with Harry, close to Dumbledore and being such a big part of the war, all of Harry's friends how had a lot of clout, and all had important positions and good jobs.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers, I hope you're all still with me. I've been getting some thought provoking comments on the latest chapters, which I've appreciated, although I've had to defend my charicterisation of H quite a bit! :P And on a lighter note, did anyone catch the X-Men ref a little while back? Just a bit of fun! Anyway, ENJOY AND COMMENT! XOXOXOXO

Chapter 9

Draco was now six months pregnant. He had been in the psychiatric ward for a month. During this time, he hadn’t seen Harry and he hadn’t been sorry. But this was because he had the absolute conviction that he would see Harry again, that other things would happen. He wasn’t certain at all how these would go, he just knew it wasn’t the end. This was probably in large part because he was having a son with him. Draco knew Harry well – he would never leave a child of his. If he really knew it was the end for him and Harry with certainty Draco wasn’t sure how he would feel right now. Probably devastated and relieved in equal measure. That was his life with Harry; hurt and comfort, pleasure and pain, a lot of contradictions and stress.

Living in the ward was far more boring than living with Harry. There were no interesting trips or artefacts. Living there made him realise how unique and privileged his life with Harry had been. He felt so guilty about such privilege actually. That was another thing the papers liked to pick up on and mercilessly torment Draco with, how very *privileged* and *lucky* Draco was to live with Harry, when so many who had suffered in the war had never had anything prior to it and after it. Look how privileged spoilt, aristocratic bratty little Draco was. After living the life many wizards only dreamed of as a Malfoy he had wormed his way into the life of big hearted, unsuspecting Harry Potter to ensure his life of luxury like any slimy Slytherin would, because they were so conceited that they just couldn’t fathom the prospect of a normal life.

All of the papers thought that Draco was some shifty character that was using Harry, and this confirmed the most negative thoughts he had about himself; that he didn’t deserve Harry, that he had no right to take anything from him or even share anything with him, even though Harry had more than enough and was happy to. It confirmed that Draco was worthless and that he didn’t deserve anything.

Is that what they want me to admit? Draco thought to himself. I happily will if that’s what they want, I know it to be true. I just wish they would stop, I just badly need it to stop. Draco felt like everyone hated him. He had barely a single friend. Harry’s friends plainly hated him, at best they had been formally and begrudgingly pleasant like Hermione for Harry’s sake. The only person Draco had besides his therapist, who could not count because of her formal position, was Harry, the man who he had so many mixed feelings about, the man with all the power. The man Draco was so afraid of and loved and was angry with.

Draco wasn’t sure at all that it was healthy for Harry to have all of the power in their relationship and for him to have none. It would always cause problems one way or another. But Harry didn’t know his own strength, Draco thought optimistically. He hadn’t meant the thoughtless things he had done, had he? And if he apologised, everything might be fine…

At least I have my son, Draco thought. At this, he felt warm.

My name is tainted, Draco thought. What used to have power is now a curse word, like ‘Nazi’. It’s so hard being the disease, the one people want to disappear in anyway as fast as possible. However unworthy, I am a human being and I feel their hate, and it makes me hate myself even more if that is possible. And this poor child that I’m bringing into the world, this innocent child…how will he be treated? Loved like one father or loathed like another? Maybe the two extreme sentiments will cancel each other out and he can be something Harry and I would both envy; anonymous, normal, a man free to carve his life as he chooses because the world is indifferent to him.

What Draco never factored in was that the world didn’t know what he had been through, couldn’t understand the pain, the horror, the experiences that were sickening just to utter that could break any person. Some of the worst things that could ever happen to someone had happened to Draco over and over…

Draco had talked so little in the past month that he was starting to forget his voice. Every day he became less inclined to use it. Silence was almost a form of protest to him, but it also showed just how damaged he was; he felt he literally didn’t deserve to speak, that there was no point in him doing so. That’s how he had been treated for years. The other residents were wrapped up in their own pain and madness, they either avoided him because they hated him like everyone seemed to, or they were too detached from reality to know where they were, let alone who he was. They talked to their hands, they crawled along the floor, they threw food.

There was one old woman who walked around stiffly, her head cocked at one angle, her eyes wide, her expression constipated, her white curly hair sticking up at all angles. She paced and paced and unnerved Draco. Occasionally she shouted out things like, “Oh look, your dinner is spoilt!” and “Pamela is having a terrible time!” Later Draco found out that she had somehow lost her children. Pamela had been one of her daughters.

From a raised alcove of a church-like window, which was where Draco liked to sit, Draco watched the residents, and ached with his emptiness. His body and mind were exhausted. He lived in the excruciating present because he had no clue what to do about the future that would come at him soon, when he wasn’t ready.

His stomach was huge. It’s like a bomb, Draco had thought at one point. There was far less pressure on him with Harry not around, and not just because Harry had been pressuring him when Draco lived with him. Draco had been putting pressure on himself because of Harry, because he had wanted to please and impress him and dare he say it, be attractive, or, or maybe even…maybe even sexually attractive to him, if that were possible. Draco blushed deeply. But now that he didn’t have such pressures upon him, Draco could take a little food, not much mind, but some, at least twice a day. It was still starvation by most people’s standards, but it wasn’t the total lack of food that it had been before.

He couldn’t eat anything sticky, or anything spicy, or anything too warm. But he ate dried fruit and a lot of fresh fruit and drank a lot of water. He had always also liked vegetables.

“Since you find it hard to eat, you might want to try having something in your room or on your body that you can snack on. Therapy isn’t a process where we eradicate your issues instantly, that would be traumatic in itself because it would be a sudden change and those pathologies would leave a hole behind in you. It’s about finding coping techniques, maybe for the rest of your life. It’s about improving by increments, until you start to forget how bad the original problem was.”

Draco had liked this idea. It seemed much more manageable that being under the pressure to heal instantly and always be happy that he had felt around Harry. He kept chocolate raisins in his room, and dried apricots. And his pockets were full of hazelnuts.

“Nuts are good,” Luna had said. “They have essential oils in them.”

Luna had said, “Once you find your coping techniques, they’ll be like your religion. You’ll take pride in them, you’ll be strict about them. Those are the same feelings one gets from anorexia, enabling you to let go of the anorexia and channel that need for control into something positive.”

Again this had made sense to Draco. Luna talked a lot of sense, and the best part was that he didn’t feel like he _had_ to do anything she said, because she gave him a choice, and said things such as ‘you might want to…’ rather than ‘you have to’. He couldn’t reply much though, but she seemed to have accepted this.

One day he suddenly whispered to her, “I didn’t want to hurt my child.”

She simply replied, “I know.”

Draco didn’t get much sleep because he was tense without sleeping next to Harry, whose presence completely changed the night and made him comfortable and safe enough to sleep. The night alone to Draco was frightening and so physically uncomfortable; he had no idea how to arrange his body. He suffered from terrible nightmares that gave him some panic attack-like symptoms during the day, and occasionally made day and night hard to differentiate. He also begat to panic when he imagined all of his nights being like that.

“There’s nothing to suggest that that will be the case more than it won’t. Don’t project negativity onto the future, that can encourage negativity to happen,” Luna had told him.

Mostly Draco sat around and snoozed and just was; something Luna told him was good for him. The facility was big and clean, reassuring and efficient, not like the place he had been before. Draco didn’t like to think about how it was Harry that was paying for it. There were gardens to roam, even if they were a bit clinical and numbing.

***

There was a pounding. In his head that was. It would be all that honey whiskey, Harry thought. Good shit…made him feel less empty…lessened him asking himself, “WHEN THE HELL’S MY SON COMING HOME?!” He rolled over, naked. Some crisps fell from his stomach to the floor.

The pounding kept going. “Sounds like the fucking door,” Harry muttered to himself. “Wish they would FUCK OFF.” Then he thought that it might be Hermione, who he loved so much, who was such easy company, or Ron, whose banter was always welcome. He staggered to his feet. The room was spinning. Whoever it was knew it would take him a while to get down the stairs, which suggested that they were a friend more than not.

He pulled on some jogging bottoms, and padded down with bare feet.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” He shouted in the hall.

He opened the door to Ginny Weasley. Ginny smiled at him in her disconcerting, mild way that Harry hated because he knew it was false. Harry hated all things deceiving, he just didn’t understand them, they drove him mad. Truth was power to him. She was smiling at him like nothing had happened between them, like he hadn’t just stopped seeing her and not contacted her. Fair dos, that had been an arsey thing of him to do, but then she wasn’t the kind of girl that you could plainly talk to, even though Harry loved plain talking and by all means would have told her things straight. She just didn’t accept the truth. Bit of a psycho trait that, Harry had thought.

But he still had this sense that he ought to be a gentleman. He was chivalric, or a chauvinist, depending how you looked at it, or maybe both. She was a lady. She was beautiful. She was interesting and fiery. She was his beloved Ron’s little sister. Harry suspected that that last fact had kept him around far longer than it should have.

“All right?” He asked cautiously.

“Not bad thanks,” Ginny nodded. Her eyes became half lidded as her interest was piqued by the sight of Harry’s body. His skinny, gymnastic figure was taut, tanned and just right. I bet it’s rock hard as well, she thought. His brown nipples were looking erect in the fresh air. Her eyes took in his messy, jet black hair, remembering how soft it had been, his strong brows, his sparkling eyes that complemented his complexion is such a gorgeous, exotic way and his strong jaw that was covered in stubble. Harry’s body was as invitingly hairy as ever, and she had always been excited by his manly, hard, veined, worker hands. She could see the outline of his gigantic member swinging in his trousers. She knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t be wearing pants. Such a big cock was a funny thing on a short man that she was taller than, she used to tease him and call it his third leg, which used to make him laugh and blush. Well it was funny until it was inside you, and then it was fantastic.

Harry didn’t like the way Ginny was looking at him at all. Her hair was this fantastic mane of orange frizz that was arranged in a perfect shape all around her. She took a lot of pride in her hair. Of course she was very beautiful and very famous, Harry just wished she would leave him alone.

“Can I come in?” She asked innocently, not sounding like she minded too much if she wasn’t allowed. Harry could hardly say no could he?

“Err, sure,” He shrugged, annoyed. She followed him in.

Dobby instantly appeared when they were in the kitchen and started making Ginny her customary green tea, which irritated Harry, because it suggested a familiarity between himself and Ginny that he had no desire to rekindle. That damned tea was what she had when she had been over at his when they had been together.

As they were sat at the kitchen table, Harry noticed that Ginny had bleached her eyebrows. It made him want to snort with laughter. They look weird, he thought. He was sure they were very fashionable or something. Alexandra would know.

“Nice eyebrows,” He growled, stretching out and scratching an armpit that looked like it was sprouting a tree.

“Thanks,” Ginny smirked, not missing his tone. She had loved the smell of Harry’s sweat, had loved it when he was sweaty and dirty. She wanted to put her face in his armpit like she used to.

“You smell like a brewery,” She said.

She didn’t thank Dobby for the tea, which incensed Harry. “Thanks Dobby,” He said deliberately.

“Harry Potter is too kind!” Dobby shouted way too loudly.

“You should spend some time with people that aren’t elves,” Ginny said, raising her non-existent eyebrows.

“I had been.”

“So I read.”

“What do you want?”

“I wanted to see you.”

“Look if you’re here because of how things ended with us, I’m sorry. No I mean it, I really am. It wasn’t fair and I wouldn’t like to be left like that either. But the signs were there for ages Gin, you knew I wanted out and you chose to ignore it. I kept telling you, I tried everything I could. I wanted to be transparent and you wanted to be the opposite. What else could I do but just walk away? It can’t have come as a shock.”

“With your alcoholism, it’s always worried me when you called me gin. It was like you were talking about what you subconsciously wanted when you should have been talking about wanting me.”

“Yeah…this is what I mean about you being impossible to talk to. I’m too hung over to solve you riddles. Thanks for visiting.”

“Harry it would have always come as a shock because when you want something, you trick yourself into hoping that you can have it and that it’s going to be ok no matter what. Besides, although you can argue that the break up, or the lack of contact, didn’t come as a shock, you taking up with Draco Malfoy certainly did.”

Harry felt guilty at that. Ginny was being honest for once and it was interesting to see.

“Gin, Ginny, we definitely broke up, don’t start saying we didn’t.”

“What happened was that I stopped hearing from you, and then I heard that you, you are involved with Malfoy.”

“Oh get real! Please! You didn’t hear from me long enough to make it obvious beyond doubt that we weren’t together, and before I ‘took up’ with Draco as you put it, you didn’t try to contact me and straighten things out, further confirming the idea that you realised we had broken up.”

“So I had to contact you?”

“There you go twisting things again, the sings were there for months Gin, the signs were there.”

“You took him to my mother’s house Harry, how is that appropriate?”

“How is it a problem?! They’re my family too! Look, you’ve said your piece, we’re obviously not going to agree, and I’m sorry, I really am. If you want me to have some sort of retribution then go and buy a copy of The Prophet and you’ll see that I’m having it. I really wish things would work out for all of us, I fucking do.”

Ginny knew who the ‘all of us’ included, and she didn’t like it. She didn’t like that her Harry, the only one that she had really wanted and the one that she should have, was sitting here, heartbroken over the slimy Malfoy of all people, while she ached for him, and was driven bitter by it.

“Straightening things out are actually not why I’m here. I was already aware of, or could guess at, your position, because I’ve known you for so long. I just came to see how you were, I want you to be ok. And to ask if we could try again.”

Harry looked at her like she was a lunatic. “Errr…can you read? I’m with Draco.”

Now Ginny returned Harry’s look. “Are you? I would have thought…”

“Yeah I mean, aren’t we? We haven’t broken up…”

“Sound familiar?”

“Look even if I’m not with him I want to be and will try my hardest to be, and even if, if, I’m not, I don’t want to be with you. Draco is pregnant and we’re going to have a child together. I love Draco more than I’ve ever loved anyone, I didn’t even know I could love this much. Now you’ve got to go.”

Ginny stood up, unable to keep the shock off her face. She hated it when her predictable Harry pulled moves like this that she couldn’t have predicted. She thought it was so easy to get inside his head, to mix up his thoughts, to control him, and it had been, because Harry was so simple. Numbly, she walked towards the door, and Harry silently let her out.

She had gone mad when she had found out about the sordid, outrageous relationship between her Harry and that piece of shit Malfoy. She had cried, and had hated herself and Harry and most of all Malfoy for making her show such weakness. What terrified her most was that Draco had something she didn’t, spawn in his freak stomach to make Harry his puppet with. Ginny knew Harry wanted nothing more than children and a family of her own. If she didn’t interrupt things in time and Harry settled into that family unit, there was nothing she would be able to do to break it, and nothing Harry would let happen to it. It…it would make Harry think he loved Draco more for having his unnatural children. Ginny swallowed her bile. Another thing that terrified her was that she couldn’t deny that Malfoy was beautiful. He had always been great looking, but judging by recent pictures, his looks had become as transcendental as they were unusual, and she knew Harry picked those with bizarre kinds of beauty. After all, he had gone for her at one time. Draco was tall and chalk white and as chiselled in face and body as could be, with a perfect complexion and almost white, dead straight, silky hair. His eyes were a rare grey.

So, tipping the media off about Harry’s dodgy liaison with Malfoy to make Harry snap out of it had not worked. She would have to try harder. And if she and Harry couldn’t be together after her best efforts, then at least he wouldn’t be with bloody Malfoy.

***

It was so strange that he was seeing Luna Lovegood for therapy. Characters from his past were taking on unimaginable dimensions, ridiculous dimensions. He would have never believed that they would take such roles in the past, but maybe he should have, or at least believed that his present hadn’t been so solid, at least disappointments wouldn’t have been so shattering. He should have known. He should have known that the evil that was around him his whole life could bite him any time. God, he had been a fool and he had paid the price.

Looney Luna they had called her, or Looney Lovegood. “Why are you called Lovegood anyway?” Was the sort of things him and his friends and associates had said to her. “No one loves you anyway.” He actually distinctly remembered saying to her at that moment, “Lovegood. Considering you, that’s an ironic name is it?” Draco cringed. He had been punished in life accordingly. He deserved to be punished.

Luna made no sign that she remembered any of these things, let alone of holding a grudge, but then again, she had never seemed the sort to hold a grudge; another reason for the cruel to be cruel. So bizarrely, Luna had taken on the role of therapist, Poppy Pomfrey was family and personal doctor, available any time day or night, bitter enemies such as Hermione and Ron were becoming cautious associates and bedfellows, and strangest of all, Harry Potter, Harry, was his lover, his lover, the father of his child…

After trains of thought like this Draco had to stop thinking before his mind exploded. I don’t recognise the world, Draco thought. I am lost.

Humiliatingly Draco had to attend special pregnancy classes that were supposed to keep him in shape and ensure that he had the best birth, for himself and his baby. His instructor was a nice squib lady. She fascinated him a little and depressed him as well. He contemplated the life of a squib. He had to, that’s what he was, whether he liked it or not. She seemed to be happy enough.

Draco was very angry at himself for being so miserable all the time. Why couldn’t he just accept his life? He should just go along with it, not really thinking or caring. Not so long ago he was tethered like an animal, being raped by animals, being tortured and starved and humiliated every waking moment…this was heaven by comparison. The reason that bad things had happened to him was that he was so ungrateful.

Still, he couldn’t help associating his pregnancy classes with a slight, dull depression, as the first class had set the tone for all the others.

The instructor had said to him, “And will your partner, Mr Potter be joining us? It’s always best when the two of you do it at the same time you know, so you know you’re on the same page. And it’s good for him to understand you know, your body and your pregnancy.” Draco resented the way that she said ‘Mr Potter’ as if she didn’t know who they both were. She behaved as if the only reason she knew that ‘Mr Potter’ was his ‘partner’ wasn’t because she had read about it in awful articles. Of course everyone that came into contact with them professionally was subject to a disclosure, and the disclosure that they signed would turn red if they betrayed confidences. Still, it didn’t stop her reading and judging.

Her comments were hurtful, they reminded Draco how absent Harry was, how he really didn’t understand Draco or his pregnancy or his body. This made him so sad.

He had to do things like bicycle legs and clench and unclench repeatedly, *down there*. All of his exercises were tiring as well, because of the problems that Draco had in his body, how tired he was all the time and how heavy the baby was starting to be. How embarrassing, he would always think during it. I just want a hole to open up and swallow me. Everything takes on this unreal quality because I’m just so embarrassed all the time. My embarrassment is almost like a barrier. But I can’t think about dying, I have a baby. Must stop thinking about dying. What made everything stranger was that Harry was of course paying for his classes. Harry was paying for his whole stay, and it wasn’t cheap. Draco felt so guilty because others weren’t receiving such treatment, as the things that he had read had relished pointing out. If Harry was paying for his stay, he was paying for Draco’s surroundings, his whole reality in a sense.

Draco felt this aching emptiness without Harry, this freezing coldness that he was afraid would freeze him out permanently. Being without Harry was like being left out in a cold. He hadn’t forgotten what Harry had done, but being so vulnerable and missing Harry so much almost made him think that he wanted to forget…the incident and just go back to Harry’s smell and his hot, strong arms. But what for? He didn’t want to be hurt. He realised this was arrogant of him, as he was assuming that he had rights, but it was true, he just didn’t want to be hurt, at least, he would stay here for now, he would try to prevent it…besides he couldn’t have his baby being hurt. Would Harry hurt it? That was a risk Draco wasn’t prepared to take, and hurting himself or hurting his birthday was the same thing at the moment.

In his tall, sterile, gallery-like room, Draco circled his bag. He hovered around it. This was because it smelt of Harry, that smell of musk and salt, that combination of sweet and sound. Ashamed, he finally took out Harry’s faded sweater and carefully smoothed it over his pillow, folding the sleeves carefully under his pillow. Harry had been the one to save him after all…

That night he slept better because it smelt of Harry, causing comforting memories to seem sharper. After his time without Harry this smell while he slept was so comforting, but he also felt guilty. I’m really nothing if I crave for someone that’s hurt me, he thought. I really am a true idiot.

His therapy session with Luna was passing the same way as usual, in absolute silence. At least Luna always seemed unconcerned with this.

“Harry is asking to be able to see you,” Luna said. “He is also asking to be able to attend classes with you. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”

Draco picked a piece of skin from one of his fingers. He didn’t like not being given choices, and they hurt him, but once he was given them, he didn’t know what to do and wanted the dilemma to go away. It was because he was afraid of taking action, which was again because he thought that if he did, he would be hurt terribly.

“I…” Draco concentrated on trying to verbalise his thoughts. “I…I, I don’t know. I want to see him but I am scared,” His sentence trailed into a whisper. At the word ‘scared’, Luna saw Draco’s expression darken as if he were remembering something. It was also as if he contracted into himself.

“I…” Draco began again. “I don’t know. What should I do?”

Draco’s question sounded so honest, so in need of an answer. Luna understood it to be a plea for advice, rather than deflection.

“For many things, I wouldn’t tell you what to do. That’s not my place, and it’s not what I like to do either. But in this case, I would have to advise you not to have a relationship with Harry, that’s my professional opinion. If you decide against this I respect your decision and still support you, and you can ask for support any time. Harry, whether he is aware of it or not, is currently abusive, and even if he weren’t, perhaps it could be questioned whether it is appropriate for you to be with him anyway in light of his actions. You also have your child’s safety to consider. Should you wish to return to Harry, we would have to monitor you, for child protection reasons.”

“Why did he do this?” Draco asked sadly. Again, it sounded so honest to Luna. She reminded herself not to become heartbroken on behalf of Draco; if she got too involved that would actually hinder her ability to help. “If he hadn’t, hadn’t, hadn’t done this I…we would have still…it would be alright…”

“Would it? Or would something else have happened? It’s character that ultimately determines a relationship, not a single event. If this single event hadn’t occurred, maybe due to Harry’s character, another, equally bad single would have occurred.”

Draco couldn’t dispute this. Because of the way Harry had behaving something was bound to have happened. And yet…Draco didn’t like hearing this answer from Luna, with all its sense of finality. Luna hadn’t ever given a direct opinion before, probably to make Draco comfortable, and because she was a very respectful person. Had he been hoping for the opposite answer, and only wanting to hear it from her rather than deciding it himself to absolve responsibility?

“I miss him. I miss his smell.”

Luna was unobtrusively quiet.

“No matter how upset I am I can’t, I can’t take this away from him. I’m not saying I will be with him again in the same way, we, we, um…we might be separated but…I want him to experience the baby…”

Or so Draco told himself. Maybe he wanted a reason to see Harry.

“Am I wrong for wanting him, at least in part?”

“No,” Luna said calmly. “And I wouldn’t think of it as right and wrong. An emotion is a response to something, in that sense it is always right.”

“But he hurt me, I must be mad.”

“It’s actually very common for the abused partner to return, at least a few times. Whether or not you return has to be your decision, no one else’s. Try and keep it that way, it will help you be independent, which will then help prevent further abuse. You need to try and become emotionally healthy. Harry is not emotionally healthy. At the moment he is toxic.”

“He can attend therapy, if he wants.”

Luna blinked. “Um, he actually didn’t offer to.”

A moment passed. “Oh,” Draco said dully.

“Would you like him too?”

“Well yes, I mean I thought he offered…”

“He didn’t.”

“Well, I, I want him to, if that’s ok with you. I mean it’s ok if it’s not. And if it’s ok with him.”

“I’ll ask,” Luna smiled.

***

“Hello Harry? Hi, it’s Luna.”

Harry’s ears perked up. “Yeah? How is he? Is he ok? Is J-the baby ok?”

“Well in a manner of speaking, they’re fine. I actually called to ask you if you wanted to attend therapy sessions with Draco.”

“Err, well no I don’t. How come? I said I wanted to just see him and talk. And go to the you know, pregnancy class thingies.”

“Ah I see. I’m asking because Draco asked for you to attend, but if you don’t want to then I suppose that’s fine-”

“Wait, Draco asked?”

“Yes.”

Harry thought for a moment. “Ok. Ok I’ll come, sure. If Draco asked. God, it’ll be good to see him. I miss him so…ok. Name the time and place. Actually, send me a card could you? Cool, great. Ok. See you then.”

Draco’s heart was in his mouth. He had scratched his hands red, and currently his fingernails were digging as deeply as he could manage into his palm. He heart ever beat of his heart, and it sounded so fast. Harry would be here any moment, he thought. Harry would be here any moment, any moment…

Draco was terrified, of Harry himself and of everything that he would feel. He hated himself feeling so much, as well as the specific feelings that he would experience, like love, in the face of what had happened to him…if he forgave Harry, Harry would think that everything was ok, and it so wasn’t. He stared fixedly ahead, didn’t look at Luna. He was safe as long as he didn’t change his stance one millimetre. Maybe that would help keep him calm. So much stress wasn’t healthy for the innocent baby that he was carrying.

There was a knock on the door, and Draco winced.

“Come in,” Luna said.

Harry came in and stood awkwardly by the door like a boulder. Draco began quaking in his body and tried to steady himself by holding onto the furniture, for the baby’s sake. He had seen Harry’s shoes and his lower body. He did not look at his face. He did not want to. He would not make a sound of fear as Harry sat down next to him.

“Hi,” Harry nodded to Luna. He looks miserable and hopeful, she thought. She wasn’t feeling particularly warm towards Harry she had to admit, but it wasn’t her place to judge right now.

Draco felt Harry turn to him as if the hold building had just been wrenched out and turned. Why does he have this effect on me?! He asked himself desperately, which sent another pang of self-hatred through him that felt almost like an anaesthetising drug.

“How are you?” Harry asked intimately, urgently. “You look bigger. How is J-the baby?”

Draco made no response. His face was turned from Harry in a final defence.

“I’ve missed you,” Harry whispered feverishly. “God I’ve missed you. I love you. Have I told you before?”

“Don’t say that here!” Draco hissed. “Don’t, don’t, don’t,” he took a breath. Sometimes a word got stuck. “Don’t say that here finally, like this, in this place…after…” He let the word ‘after’ hand in the air, with all of its appalling implications. “You should have said it before, when you could have, when we were happy…” Draco began to make choking noises.

“But I do! I love you!” Harry said earnestly. He could see that his words were affecting Draco, he just couldn’t tell whether they were affecting him for the better or worse yet, whether they were affecting him in the right way. Harry felt desperate. He felt like this was his only chance. Then Harry saw the familiar tears running down Draco’s cheeks, leaving their familiar tracks.

“Draco please don’t cry,” Harry said. Luna noted that he sounded close to tears himself.

The baby had picked this awful moment to kick Draco to pieces, and at the first blow Draco was jolted, and quickly covered his hands with his stomach. Because he was so thin and his baby was so big (as people kept telling him) he could feel all of its movements.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked. “Is something wrong with the baby?” His hand automatically reached out, and Draco pulled away. Harry remembered that Draco wouldn’t want to be touched by him, and his hand dropped. He now partly felt like a didn’t have a right to his child, after he had ignored the rights of its carrier. Because he wasn’t the pregnant one, Harry felt slightly left out. Draco had all of the power within the pregnancy, he could choose to not include Harry at any point, and the more involved Harry became emotionally and physically, the more he stood to lose. But how could he not be involved with the son that he had always wanted and the man that he loved? He was in an impossible dilemma.

“Draco, you don’t have to do or say anything you don’t want, in fact, you don’t have to do or say anything, period. Harry, get back in your chair, what you’re doing isn’t helping I’m afraid. Draco you’re not going to be hurt in this setting, I can assure you. There’s magic in this room to prevent it, for one thing. All I ask of you is to be honest, and to put your child’s and your own welfare above all else. If you don’t do this, it’ll ultimately be you who’s hurt again. Would that be ok?”

“Yes,” Draco rasped, head still angled away from Harry, a curtain of now slightly damp hair protecting him.

“Now I’m going to ask you both an important question, again, please be honest. Do you want to work together to try and rebuild your relationship? No one is obliged to give any particular answer.”

“Yes,” Harry said immediately.

“Draco?” Luna said.

The moment stretched out until Harry’s hope plummeted into despair. He’s going to say no, Harry thought wretchedly. And I didn’t feel our child kick. How I want to feel that and perform the charm that allows us to both see him! I’m losing what I barely had, what I want more than anything, and it’s all my fault.

“Yes,” Draco whispered, and Harry blinked, as it had been so quiet. Had he imagined it? No, miraculously, Luna was nodding and looking grave in response. Draco had said yes to giving it another go with him? Harry was the luckiest guy in the world! He would *not* do anything to mess it up!

“Okay then,” Luna said neutrally. “I respect both your decisions. Now before we carry on I’ve just go to say that it may not work out, that’s a possibility that you both have to accept. Just because you’re going to try your best doesn’t guarantee a lifetime long future together, and that’s ok. It’s a good idea for you both to accept that without any guilt.” She paused to make sure they had both understood her.

“We all in this room also need to stop seeing Draco as the only injured party of this relationship. Harry is also deeply emotionally damaged, and this was what lead him to, but does not excuse him from, his worst, recent actions. You need to find new ways of coping Harry, ones that don’t involve you hurting yourself and others.”

He was damaged?! No he wasn’t! Maybe he was…Harry didn’t like this line of thought. It made him feel…unsettled and out of control. He nodded in agreement to Luna, he was willing to give anything his best shot.

“We’re going to try and talk about uncomfortable things in these sessions, the most difficult things there are to talk about,” Luna warned them. “I think that’s enough today. It was good to see you both.”

Harry stood. “Draco can I talk to you outside? Please? I’ll be calm, I’ll be quiet. I’ll listen to you.” Automatically Harry held out his hand, but again on realising that Draco probably didn’t want to take it, he let it drop again. If Draco said no Harry would respect his descision. That was what all of this was about; showing Draco the respect that he deserved. But he so hoped that Draco would talk to him for five minutes. Luna was calmly arranging papers on her battered desk.

Draco seemed to hesitate. The child in his stomach seemed to kick again, and Draco finally gave a jerky nod. Grabbing his cane, the one that Harry had given him which he relied on more and more these days, he shuffled to round the corner into the hallway. It was so hard to catch his breath when he was this pregnant. And he was nervous around Harry.

Harry mused how they were meeting in a hallway like teen lovers at school. It was as if they had gone back to the beginning. Harry hoped that it could be a fresh start for them, but he dared not be too optimistic if it meant being unrealistic. Harry was desperate for any moment he could catch with Draco, even the sight of him was exciting and a pleasure in itself.

Draco stood in front of him stiffly. He wants to maintain the space between us, Harry thought, whereas Harry wanted to close the space, and hold Draco, falling into that feeling of being in a relationship and being intimate.

“How are you?” Harry asked, his voice full of concern.

“You already asked that,” Draco mumbled, looking down. A curtain of perfect white-blonde hair fell in front of his face. How do you think I am?! Draco wanted to ask sarcastically, but he daren’t. Why was he so angry anyway? Harry was his best option. Why couldn’t he swallow his damn pride?

“I know,” Harry muttered, as if to himself, running a hand through his wild hair. Draco remembered how he had loved the sight of Harry doing that, and it still caused some pleasant feelings in him which he was quick to quell.

“Look Draco, I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone, more than I know I could love. My love for you is…fuck, I’m bad at this…it’s bigger than me. It scares me. I’m not in control of it when I’m used to…well, when I like to be in control, and because of this, I’m, I’m, I’m scared. Because you’re the best thing I’ve ever had. I’ll change. I’ll never hurt you again. I love you. Please can we try again? I know it might not…might not be the same.” Harry’s voice was wavering by the end. “I love you,” He said again. Draco could see that Harry was quaking with the desire to hug him, but was restraining himself.

“I’m not happy,” Draco rasped, looking away and squinting. “I mean that’s obvious, but I’m not happy with us, with you. I’m not happy with you at all. But I…am not devoid of feeling for you. This is not enough to stop me from walking away, however, this, coupled with other factors is I suppose. I’m old fashioned in thinking a child should have a family and financial security and that their parents’ dislike for each other shouldn’t stop this. Call it an old pure blood eccentricity, the way they were burned into me, they’re very hard to forget…Also, I, I,I,” Draco stopped and took a breath, closing his eyes for a moment. His nostrils flared slightly. “Also I obviously don’t have many other options. As the ‘news’ is fond of pointing out, my name and legacy and past are anathema. My appearance is horrendous, my mind, body and spirit broken. I have no friends or funds. If you resolve your…insanity, it’s in my child’s interest to stay with you, let alone mine.”

Fireworks were going off inside Harry! Draco’s speech was hardly romantic, but thank god for Slytherin shrewdness! They were going to try again! This chance has been given to me and I mustn’t waste it, I won’t waste it, Harry thought.

“Thank you Draco, thank you. I love you.”

Draco held up his hand, as if he didn’t want to hear any more. He was looking pained. “Go. I mean, please, please go. I, I want you to. If you want to come to classes, come in two weeks…I n-need a break…” Draco felt close to tears again, and his mouth felt tight. His poor baby, he thought, coming into this awful world where your only option was making do.

Draco turned to leave, leaving Harry bobbing on his feet with his desire to hold and touch Draco.

“Draco,” Harry whispered, and the intimacy of the way Harry said his name, in a raw way, with need, with longing, sent violent shivers up Draco’s spine.

“No Harry,” He said, not looking back.

“Ok,” Harry said. “Ok.” His feet found their way leadenly to the entrance, and he let himself out into the cold light, dazed.

That night he pulled himself off deliberately painfully to the thought of Draco. He imagined how beautiful and arousing Draco’s pregnant body would be now; that big, unmissable swell.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry it's taken longer than usual to deliver this chapter, there's been work and life and stuff, you know how it is :D. Some of the comments seem to raise the question of how long this story is going to be and where it is going. Where is it going? I don't know, I have a few notes, some which you really won't see coming but which you'll hopefully like. Also, I want the story to be really, really long. I mean really long. It's already really long, and the reason I want this is because the genre and format of slash allows it to be. So why not take advantage of the genre? I'll enjoy writing this and you can enjoy reading this (hopefully) for as long as it's naturual and the story will allow!!!! As always let me know what you think X X

Chapter 10

Draco shuffled into the now very familiar room where Luna was waiting for him patiently and Harry was bouncing his leg. Harry’s face lit up as Draco maneuvered in. It was getting harder and harder to move about, and Draco’s back and legs ached all the time. His pregnancy was something else that exasperated the on and off aches and discomfort that he had. The pain that he was almost constantly in wasn’t like crucio (mercy forbid) or like the kind people had when they suffered from chronic pain, but it was still fairly painful. Placing pain on a scale was pointless from where Draco was standing anyway; pain was pain to he who had to suffer it. At moments it was acute, and these were the moments in which he felt very low, and started not thinking properly (‘not thinking properly’ was how he referred to suicidal thoughts) but for 70% to 75% of the day he was able to talk himself out of such madness, especially as someone who was pregnant, and try and get on with his day in countless little ways as best as he could. That’s how he thought of time; in days, or even in hours. If he thought about years, or a lifetime, he would go mad, maybe even give up.

Draco swallowed hard and sat down, putting a hell of a lot of pressure into his cane and ignoring Harry, who he could sense was desperate to be reassured by being acknowledged.

“Hello Draco,” Luna said in the same way that she always did at the beginning of their sessions. “How’re you?”

“I’m, I’m all right thank you,” Draco said, rubbing his chest. He tried to rub it harder, thinking that pressure might help. He would never touch his chest in front of others usually, he mostly hugged himself and wrung his hands. It was just that pain and discomfort compelled him to it, he was in the sort of discomfort that you couldn’t sit still with.

“Draco what’s wrong?” Harry asked. “Are, are you ok? Is your chest ok? Sorry to keep asking you stuff all the time, trust me I get sick of my voice too, but I go crazy wondering if you’re ok. I just want you to know that we, that is to say you, can see the doctor anytime you want, and I don’t have to come.” This all came out in a big rush.

Draco didn’t say anything, but now that attention had been drawn to his chest he seemed to notice the pain that he was in more. What had been turning like a beast readjusting itself in its sleep was now fully awake. Draco gripped the wooden sides of the chair that he was in and leaned forward, his back poker straight. He also stared forward. Hell, this was agony.

Harry went to put his arm around Draco but once again it froze in mid-air. This felt horrible; he just wanted to hold and comfort the man that he loved. He only wanted to help him.

“Draco may I put my arm around you? I won’t if you don’t want me to, I just want to comfort you.”

“You want to comfort yourself,” Draco bit. It seemed that whenever he was pushed to some sort of extreme he could be quite blunt with Harry, even though he never wanted to be.

Harry recoiled, but he also got some kind of thrill from being reprimanded by Draco. Every time Draco did it Harry thought, _ah, the old Draco!_ _That other man!_ It was proof that there was spirit and fight inside Draco.

“Draco maybe you could tell us what’s wrong? That way we can help you,” Luna said.

“In my chest, so tight,” Draco said. “Like, like straining, like my skin, no, flesh, is being pulled,” Draco was feeling breathless.

Luna looked at him in a concerned way. “All right Draco, well maybe it’s better if we leave our session for today and floo your doctor. You do seem very breathless and I don’t want you to pass out here.”

Luna’s beads jangled as she got up to use the communal floo at the end of the hall, and Draco was conscious of being left alone with Harry. He was very, very conscious of it. Harry knew that his job now was to comfort Draco. The last thing that Draco needed for his health now was to have a panic attack.

“Draco, you’ll be fine,” Harry hoped he sounded soothing. “I guess pregnant people have a lot of hiccups, it’s normal to go to the doctor regularly, if anything it’s good to. It’s just your body learning how to cope. I wish I knew more about pregnancy though…I’ll read up on it. Besides we’re all here for you to help you, you know, any time.”

“This poor child…having to put up with this useless vessel,” Draco wheezed, referring to his body.

Harry blinked. “Draco, your body is hardly a useless vessel, if anything it’s the opposite, it’s a haven, it’s harbouring life, that’s something my body will never do. Your body is incredible and unique. Besides things happen when you’re pregnant, I reckon that’s just the way it is. Pregnant people keep in regular contact with their doctors.”

Draco marvelled at the fact that Harry genuinely believed those complimentary sounding things he has just uttered about him. It made him wonder whether Harry was an imbecile, (Harry was the brightest non-academic person he had met) but simply in relation to Draco. His thinking just seemed to be the opposite of what it should be when he regarded Draco, some wires were twisted in his mind. For example he claimed to love Draco when he ought to loathe him. Draco found compliments grating, they seemed to mock him by highlighting what he so obviously wasn’t. Draco also hadn’t failed to notice how Harry had kept saying pregnant _people_ rather than women. He had seemed to do it naturally and unselfconsciously enough, but again Draco found it mocking.

“Also he’s lucky to have you as a parent,” Again this was said with absolute honesty, and Draco could tell that Harry was looking at him with an open expression and clear, liquid eyes.

“You didn’t say James,” Draco muttered, still looking at the floor and trying to keep his breath steady. Talking and being distracted seemed to help the pain. James suddenly delivered an extra sharp blow, which made Draco bowl over and clench, _down there_. Oh it was hot in that small, old room with the high ceiling! No windows were open and Harry was just so close, too close. Draco actually had to concentrate on unclenching (he was so embarrassed at the thought of the term), biting his bottom lip hard in concentration, a stripe of blush spread across both cheeks, and all the while Harry was sat next to him, so so close, without knowing what Draco was trying so hard to do. James kicked him again, this time in the side.

“Oof,” Draco grunted.

“He’s kicking you to pieces,” Harry didn’t sound amused. “About the James thing, yeah, well, we don’t know what his name is yet. Well maybe we do. I mean, if you have any ideas…”

“I was considering the name Abraxas,” Draco wheezed. He was doubled over and was hardly able to get any words out for having no breath. He was steadying himself with all his strength on his cane.

“Interesting,” Harry said, hoping he sounded positive about a name he instantly hated. It wouldn’t suit his fun, normal little boy. “Very…formal. I like it.” To be honest Harry was just trying to distract mainly Draco, but also himself, from whatever Draco’s present malady was. It was his duty to help Draco in any way he possibly could.

“He’s so big,” Draco said in a small voice. “I, I’ve, I’ve seen pictures of pregnant women and they’re not, they don’t seem so big. Everyone tells me he’s so big. He’s constantly kicking.”

Draco felt another kick and and clenched his teeth. His chest ached and felt tight. Suddenly there was emptiness in his clammy hand and he felt himself begin to fall forward; his cane had slipped. _The baby!_ His mind shrieked.

And then there was Harry’s hand, strong and firm underneath his, holding his whole body steady. He had missed Harry’s warm touch so. Right now it seemed to communicate something to him.

“I know that I’ve been so, so wrong and I don’t expect anything from you, I have no right to. But I will help you in any way without conditions for as long as you want. I couldn’t let you fall, but I’m sorry for presuming to touch you. I’m going to take my hand away now.”

Draco considered how much you realise something’s presence only when it’s gone and then returned. When he and Harry had touched sometimes before, it felt like they were a single body and that they were a team and had the same goals and a joint future. Draco tightened his grip on Harry’s hand as James kicked away.

Harry stared at Draco. “Thank you,” He said with feeling.

Poppy Pomfrey had been called and once everyone realised that Draco’s pain or breathing problems weren’t getting better, Draco was taken to the familiar private hospital where she worked.

“Are you sure you want Harry to come with you?” Luna had said. “It’s not good if boundaries are blurred and everything is forgotten because of moments like this.”

Draco had stood very still and considered. Harry was hanging on his every movement. “Yes,” He finally said. “It might be to do with the baby. I won’t be alone with Harry regardless.”

This hurt but Harry knew he deserved this, and much more, so he kept quiet.

Poppy familiarly scanned her wand over Draco’s body slowly, letting her magic pick any possible anomaly up, and went over to the parchment to the side to check what the enchanted quill had written.

“Interesting,” She muttered to herself, pushing up her glasses. Harry and Draco waited. Pomfrey irritated Harry beyond belief. Harry would admit that he was an impatient man and that he had been way too impatient with Pomfrey on previous visits with Draco, but did she not understand that people wanted news about their health, and more importantly, their loved ones, straight away? Harry thought that Pomfrey should realise that patients didn’t see themselves and patients, they were just normal people anxious for news.

“Well?” Harry prompted. Draco’s breath kept catching next to him. Harry thought that must be James kicking him. Harry wanted to take his hand, but he couldn’t.

“Yes…this is highly unusual…I scanned Mr Malfoy’s chest and an unidentified substance is built up in it…I thought it was mucus, or some type of infection, maybe even misdirected food matter; some sort of aspiration related complication, but regardless…it was actually some sort of calcium, which must mean that Mr Malfoy is lactating.”

The moment stretched out between them, and again the clock seemed loud in the silence. This moment was a little like when Draco had first been told that he was pregnant. God damn it, life was embarrassing? Would his body ever stop being so repulsive, changeable and betraying? He couldn’t get a grip on his own physicality.

“Lactating?” Harry said, finding his voice. He wasn’t sure he had just processed what he’d been told.

“Yes, in a manner of speaking. The body is producing the milk but there isn’t really the appropriate tissue for it, or not enough of it anyway, and too much is being produced too soon. The pain is a results of the…milk taking up space in Mr Malfoy’s chest and hurting his body. The pain feels like a tightness yes?”

“And what…sorry to be talking for you Draco, interrupt or tell me to shut up anytime…and what are we supposed to about this? He can’t be in pain like this, it’s got to be helped. The baby’s already beating him up from inside.”

Poppy walked around her desk to face them in person. “Draco’s body has had a lot of magical intervention, too much magical intervention, that’s what healer’s don’t consider as much as they should unfortunately. And what’s more, it was bad magical intervention. His body was broken and healed far more times than is advisable. It’s like…well, it’s slightly like muggle antibiotics. I mean, not at all, but the analogy helps. Considering that Mr Malfoy will probably have magical intervention that can’t be helped during the birth, I suggest manual removal.”

Harry looked nonplussed, but Draco had a bad feeling about what Poppy had just said.

“Potter are you familiar with breast pumps? Female muggles use it, it’s often very interesting to look into fairly accessible muggle contraptions like that, as well as the more advanced scientific-”

“Er, well I’m not familiar with them, but I’ve heard of them. So, wait, let me get this straight sorry, you’re saying Draco should use a breast pump to pump out the excess milk?”

“Precisely,” Poppy said, as if she hadn’t delivered sensitive, let alone shocking news to them. “I assume you can purchase one? I would purchase one for you but you would be paying for it anyway in your bills, and you probably know what to choose just as well as I do. Do bring it in however, we could examine it-”

“That might be insensitive,” Harry said firmly.

“No,” Draco moaned, and both Pomfrey and Harry looked at him. “No…don’t talk about me as if…don’t talk about it all, it’s disgusting.”

“You’re not disgusting,” Harry immediately said. It was as if he was pleading, as if he was reasoning with Draco to see an obvious truth that Draco just couldn’t. Poppy didn’t say anything. She would leave them to it. Them, and the psychiatrist. She would deal with the biology.

“Yes, well regardless, do let me know how you get on, and of course come back in if any complications arise or if the problem persists.”

Harry nodded. Outside the wind whipped them, and the baby was still kicking Draco, though less, almost as if he was now only doing it playfully.

Harry’s hair was a storm, and his eyes were bright. He was facing forward away from Draco, but his head was turned to him and his hand was reaching out to Draco. Draco could sense how much Harry wanted him to take it.

“Come back to me Draco. I love you. I miss you. I’ll do anything you want.” The end of his sentence sounded choked.

Draco had known for some time that there were no certain truths in his situation; if he stayed away from Harry, things could or couldn’t go wrong the same way that they could if he returned to Harry. Living with Harry had no guarantees, it was whether he was willing to take a chance, and whether he wanted to live with Harry. He did, he had feelings for him. But he was hurt, and afraid of being hurt further. Analysing the situation had shown him to be 50% resolved on returning to Harry, and as equally resolved on staying away. But, his baby had the right to make up his mind about his other father as well.

“All right,” Draco whispered. “All right.”

Harry felt sudden joy, and calm, and tiredness in his heart from Draco’s response. A cold, tentative hand that took his own. They walked into the gleaming day.

“Luna won’t be happy that we decided this away from her, she’ll definitely think it’s too soon, she’ll think while you were away with me I threatened you or something to change your mind.”

“I suppose she will.”

“But Luna can’t always be happy. We can’t always be happy. We’ve got to know when to take advice, and when we don’t need it.”

Draco’s chest still ached. He hoped Harry would head off for the appalling contraption that’s name he couldn’t bring to his mouth as soon as possible, because he was finding it hard to concentrate with such pain.

Draco hadn’t been in Grimmauld for months, so he had that feeling you do when you return to a place that is so familiar and yet is now unfamiliar. He noticed smells and corners that he hadn’t before. It also felt cold in that unfamiliar way, but maybe Draco was just cold, or maybe it was just his emotions creating the sensation.

Harry was so happy to have Draco back in his home, just at home, period, but he was also nervous.

“Would you like some food?” He asked innocently enough, but as Draco looked at him quizzically, Harry wondered if it had been the wrong question, and didn’t want there to be any miscommunication again. “I mean you don’t have to have any, I’m not saying you should, I’m just asking.”

“Maybe some soup,” Draco said quietly.

“Sure. Dobby! Dobby? Soup!”

“Yes Harry Potter!” Dobby called from the kitchen.

“When am I going to get him to stop casually using my full name,” Harry said to himself, shaking his head.

Draco smiled a small smile, and Harry returned it.

That night Draco and Harry got ready for bed silently and cautiously, walking on egg shells around each other. Harry didn’t want to put any pressure on the situation, didn’t want to assume anything, didn’t want to ruin whatever this was that they had. He didn’t think he’d ever been so quiet getting ready for bed in his life. He exhaled. This was a lot of pressure, and he couldn’t blow it. Draco just didn’t want the worst of Harry to show its face again. Never seeing it again was too much.

Draco was about to go into his room, wearing a huge t shirt over another, different coloured long-sleeved shirt, and of course trousers. Harry, who never wore a shirt to bed, not even in December, had suddenly remembered his modesty, and was wearing a pyjama top. It looked ridiculous to Draco. Harry was obviously trying not to make him uncomfortable. Too little too late, Draco thought. At that moment Harry happened to have come out of his bathroom to turn the hallway lights off (it was some sort of muggle eccentricity of his to not spell them from his room, or have them automatically spelled). Draco’s breath caught, and that panicky fear that he had suppressed by feeling in the right and feeling he had the upper hand began to feel like it could mix up his mind again. He stared at Harry, frozen.

“Well good night,” Harry said softly, and maybe slightly sadly? “I hope you sleep well.”

Draco nodded hurriedly and went into his room as fast as his gigantic bump would allow. His child was feeling merciful and hadn’t kicked since he had returned.

“Draco I don’t want you to feel awkward,” Harry’s voice had this was of becoming intimate and confidential. It made Draco feel that the words Harry was speaking were intended only for him and that they were tender and important, and that Draco was special for being chosen to be solely confided in. “Obviously you don’t have to sleep with me, obviously you don’t have to sleep in the same room as me, and I won’t come into your room. So relax, please.”

Draco nodded again, hoping Harry would go to his room now. How could he trust him? And how could he trust himself, when Harry’s voice still made him feel so sensual?

***

Rita Skeeter sat in the backroom of a smart London Coffee shop along Regent Street, observing the woman in front of her bemusedly. She really was an interesting spectacle. Interesting, and sorry; Skeeter’s favourite spectacle alongside the scandalous kind. The busyness and obviousness of their location would camouflage them. It would be so easy to portray Ginerva Weasley as mad, a lunatic, batty, hell bent on revenge – a one dimensional character without any complexity or depth that would not make one think twice about passing judgement on her, (for the record, this is how Skeeter would present Weasley if she didn’t want to stay in her favour to obtain oh so juicy information about Potter). No, Weasley was or at least had been an ordinary, maybe even shy, normal girl, and this would have been her first pitfall; being so ordinary and so shy in a family of competitive boys that mixed with the likes of Potter and that unbelievably irritating supposed wonder woman Granger. She would have secretly longed for Potter the day she laid eyes on him, and this affection would shape every aspect of her character the way a small shoot growing next to a tall wall would be shaped by it. So she would become fierce, pretend she didn’t care and wasn’t concerned with Potter’s attentions. She would grow bitter and dry, stressed and hollow. Finally potty Potter’s attentions would rest on the obviously beautiful Weasley, and would linger long enough for her to hope that they would stay a lifetime because of the brittle, bizarre, chic and sarcastic exterior that she had constructed for herself out of nothingness.

Once potty had wafted away (that man was a headless chicken that didn’t know what to do with himself after defeating Voldermort) her nothingness became toxic, and started to turn into desperation. Ginerva developed a thirst for revenge. Skeeter reconsidered that she had always been desperate though; Ginerva had reeked of desperation the moment she had seen Potter. Love had driven her mad and all that. But weren’t there rare whispers of some sort of altercation with a book-artefact at some point? And who knows how much that had muddled her mind. The best thing Ginny could have done was to accept that Potter didn’t love her and never would and move on. The worst thing she could do was what she was doing right now, and Skeeter could kiss her for it.

“I have information,” Ginny said carefully, after daintly stirring her tea in its expensive china for about five minutes. Skeeter waited as if she had all the time in the world. A few more minutes passed.

“Well I assumed you did! No offence sweetie, but I wouldn’t have agreed to meet otherwise,” This wasn’t strictly true; Skeeter would have met Weasley anyway for anything that she could turn into an ‘exclusive interview’.

“Watch it,” Ginny said precisely and poisionously. _Well, despite being totally desperate she’s not willing to suffer like a fool too easily,_ Skeeter thought.

“I’m doing a favour for _you_ , _sweetie_. So don’t act like I’m blessed to be deigned with your time. I’d rather spend time with a dung beetle. Oh sorry, wait…”

Skeeter’s eyes narrowed, and she felt her ears get hotter. “Yet here we are.”

“Mmm, here we are.”

Ginny seemed to be chewing on her mouth, as if she was so disgusted by what she was about to say. When she finally said it, it was like she threw up her words. “Malfoy’s pregnant.”

“How can that be?” Skeeter said mildly but instantly.

“I don’t know. That’s all Harry said.”

“It can’t be.”

“It is.”

“What were his exact words?”

“He said that we definitely had broken up, even though he just stopped…being in touch.”

“Ah I see. So what were his exact words?”

Ginny stared Skeeter in the eye. “Look even if I’m not with him I want to be and will try my hardest to be, and even if, I’m not, I don’t want to be with you. Draco is pregnant and we’re going to have a child together. I love Draco more than I’ve ever loved anyone, I didn’t even know I could love this much.”

Skeeter’s eyes gleamed triumphantly. “Thank you,” She said sincerely, standing up. “Once more, you’re sure?”

“Yes, I know Harry.”

Skeeter looked over her shoulder before leaving. She didn’t know why she was bothering but, “This won’t make him come back you know.”

A shrug. And then quietly before a sip of tea from a cup wrapped in both hands, “It’ll do something.”

***

Draco had one month to go today before birth. It was truly a countdown now, he was truly nervous. He and Harry had kept out of each other’s way. Sometimes they fell into a familiar, comfortable banter and during these times it felt that it was possible for them to get too close. Then Draco’s face would darken and he would become stiff and cold, clearly communicating dread. At this point Harry would cool down; overfamiliar behaviours would become polite and casual, and he would find something else to do in another room. He might watch TV, or dither about moving objects without really doing anything, but what he did most of was read, losing himself in the information he was absorbing, or fly, by soaring to freezing heights and feeling the familiar, comforting sting of being alone in the air.

Draco loved reading too. At first he had tried to read novels, but he had found those too emotionally charged. Look at these writers, writing of pain as if they know what it is, he had thought. He had thought this simply and with regret, not like a martyr. Now he read mostly technical magical books. They were a very painful reminder that he was now useless and couldn’t perform the magic that even a child would be able to, but they also made him feel like he was making up his loss somehow. Yet he also knew he wasn’t deep down. There, he knew he was totally useless. Still, the books were fascinating, and Harry, of should he say the Blacks and Potter’s, had had and incredible, rare library.

One afternoon as Draco was sat in the library he heard music coming from down the corridor, along with Harry’s gravelly singing voice.

“Very superstitious, writings on the wall…” Harry began. Draco could tell from the tone of Harry’s voice that Harry was enjoying himself. Funny how sometimes he seemed to know so much about the man, Draco thought, how he could almost sense Harry and predict what he would do. Another thing that Draco had learnt was that Harry loved music, albeit in an amateur way. If Draco were to ask him about his interest however, he was sure Harry would brush away the conversation with a laugh, a shrug and a look of distraction, saying that he didn’t really know anything and that his sense of music was cheesy. Harry had his own particular brand of putting himself down, and it took finely tuned senses, or many senses finely tuned to Harry, to pick it up. Harry had the most potential out of anyone Draco had ever met, (save Voldermort, his father, Severus and Dumbledore), but he just wasn’t interested in exploring it. Largely he was bored by it, by himself, and behind this, a little frightened by his power.

Draco allowed himself a small smile. So what? No one was here to judge him for loving a man that had hurt him so. Why lie about his feelings? Everything was devastated and disturbing in life anyway (or as Harry would say with feeling, fucked up). Why not add one more thing? His confliction over his feelings towards Harry were another anxiety that a person who had suffered so much did not need.

Harry’s voice was just a bit too gravelly to be considered good Draco decided, it sounded like he was singing with a sore throat. But Draco was still fond of it. He realised he hadn’t been reading the book in his lap for a little while now. Too quickly Harry’s impatient steps were close by, and then he was in the library.

“Ok?” Harry smiled at him. The book slid off Draco’s lap and hit the floor and Draco instantly felt stupid. Harry’s smile seemed to confide in him, like it was meant for him. Harry looked happy and open when he looked at Draco in a way that he never looked otherwise.

“Just came in here to get this book…” Harry explained, scrutinising the shelved, now humming, now ghosting his fingers over spines. _I’ll try not to concentrate on that,_ Draco thought. _Too…too…sexy_. He blushed and looked down and felt shame rage inside him like acid reflux. Harry’s hands were quick like hummingbirds; here one second, there the other.

“Well never mind,” Harry said to himself, “That’s the trouble with elves, when you don’t organise your own stuff…this is what…” And on turning to Draco he noticed that his book was still on the floor. Harry walked over, picked it up for him and handed it to Draco. Even this pathetically simple act was charged to Draco, and unbeknown to him, it was charged for Harry. Harry’s gaze was searching him, everything was suddenly serious.

“Draco I miss you,” Harry whispered mutedly. “You know how. But you don’t have to do anything you don’t want.” Harry was crushing his words in his mouth.

Draco had been so split as to what to do that it had been driving him mad. There was no question over whether he loved Harry, but due to Harry’s personality and in light of what Harry had done, half of the time he wanted to be comforted by him and kiss him, and at other times he wanted to run away as fast as he could, feeling sweet relief.

Now, he _dared_ to look at Harry as if he was in control of the situation. He _dared_ to look at him with the ghost of a question in his eyes, knowing that they were both thinking of Draco’s lips, knowing that his lips were slightly swollen in that way that lips mysteriously are before one starts, or is thinking about, kissing.

 _This man has given me everything that I know about love and romance apart from rape,_ Draco thought suddenly, maybe sentimentally, which wasn’t like him, about Harry. _For that I love him, even if I shouldn’t._ _He kept me alive long enough to know what it is to want a kiss._

To Harry, Draco’s eyes were shining beautifully, and darkening seductively, almost like a storm. He liked to imagine that when Draco’s mind became animated, his eyes became stormy like that. Harry licked his lips. His mouth was parched.

“Draco I would like to kiss you, if that’s ok,” Ugh, no one asked for permission to kiss, it was so…awkward, so teenage, so inexperienced. But he had to; it was the right thing to do.

“Yes, it’s ok, it’s ok,” Draco replied breathlessly.

Their lips touched softly, full of fear, in what was barely a kiss. Harry had missed it like he had missed nothing before in his life. He didn’t try to kiss Draco deeper, he just held his lips against him, dreading the idea of breaking their contact. Of course Draco did after about half a minute.

“Harry are you…are…are you c-crying?” Draco asked, flabbergasted. He knew he was awful but was he really that awful? He had hardly done anything-

“No!” Harry replied harshly, rubbing his hands aggressively over both eyes as if to punish his flesh. “I’ve missed you…ok? I’ve missed you,” Harry’s voice sounded so pained and broken, as if he could barely get his words out.

 _He’s crying because he’s missed kissing me?!_ Draco thought. _How could anyone miss me! I would be relieved to not have to kiss me, on this mouth that’s had so much forced into it._ At this thought, he was sickened at himself afresh, but his mouth had been reassured by Harry’s kiss. Hopefully it wasn’t so bad if Harry had kissed it?

“I should go now,” Harry said, and then, feeling that something more was necessary, he said simply, “Every moment spent with you is a pleasure, and I wouldn’t rather have spent that time any other way.” Losing his nerve, Harry walked away before he also lost his mind.

His words left Draco feeling all mixed up, but mostly, alive.

***

Obviously recently Harry loathed getting the paper. But he had to. He didn’t get it for himself; for his own ego, to know what people were saying about him, no, they’d been writing rubbish about him for years and he had just avoided it and thought of it as separate from his life (although it made him a little numb to keep cutting away sections of his reality, however unpleasant they were). He got it because he had to know what was being written about Draco, and needless to say his child, and he needed to get it before Draco so that Draco wouldn’t ever find out. In a way he was taking a bullet for Draco. He was aware of this on some level, and maybe even liked doing so. What Harry didn’t consider was that things happened as they did, and that he couldn’t protect Draco from everything forever. Maybe, it would be better for Draco to face things, maybe he would be hurt in more ways than one for Harry trying to always keep him from hurt. But Draco’s recent decline was prominent in Harry’s mind.

“Oh God, no,” Harry balked softly to himself as his eyes scanned the headline of _The Prophet_. It was headed: ‘Potter’s lovechild with Malfoy’. The wizards’ _Evening Standard_ carried a variation on this; ‘The Potter-Malfoy Lovechild’. How did they know? How could they know? Who, who on Earth was telling people things about them and trying to blow apart their lives? It felt like every time Harry and Draco gathered themselves together, grain by grain, something shattered them into a million pieces again. Harry wracked through his mind. It couldn’t be medical personnel, their disclosure agreements would turn violent if they had given anything away, and everyone who had been in contact with them had been subject to one. It wouldn’t be anyone close to him, e.g., Ron or Hermione or Molly, because, well, because they just wouldn’t do that. Would they? No. Feeling that his friends may have betrayed him made him feel paranoid and isolated, but they wouldn’t have, none of them, even if they didn’t approve of or understand Draco. Someone must have found a way round a disclosure, but he had designed those with Pomfrey himself, they were rock solid, watertight…

Harry didn’t want to read the words, the small print. What would that achieve but pain? He had discerned that the media knew about the one thing that he had wanted to be private and protected, and that was enough, he didn’t need their poisonous words, unlike Draco, who was perversely and destructively addicted to the details of cruel articles about himself. Only recently, Harry had had fantasises about moving to a city with Draco and having the man be new and fresh because of his surroundings, and have all of their problems skulk away like a bad dream. But you couldn’t run away from things, Harry was sure they wouldn’t work out as easily as he imagined. Draco was going to be giving birth in two weeks.

***

They were sat in Luna’s office. Everything began here again, their lives were reset in this room like _Groundhog Day,_ Harry thought.

“All right guys, we’ve been doing these sessions for a little while now and as requested, Harry is still here Draco. I know there’s a lot going on in both your presents, but I was thinking that it might be time to start talking about the past, specifically recounting the abuse that Draco has suffered. This process will help you Harry, to gain a better understanding of Draco and what he’s been through so you can be more understanding of him like you desperately need to be. It’ll also help you Draco, to feel less alone with your pain, for one thing.”

Oh god, Harry had thought that talking about Draco’s abuse would come up, and had been dreading the moment. How could he sit through hours of Draco talking about the horror? His face would burn the whole time along with his ears, he would be cringing, squirming and miserable. To think that Draco had suffered so much that Harry found painful even to hear about! Harry wasn’t jealous of Draco’s pain in any way, he more felt that he was unworthy to hear about it, as he couldn’t ever really understand what it had felt like.

 _I will have to tell them about my shame,_ Draco thought morosely. _They will think that I am disgusting. I have to tell them, I don’t have any other choice. They will want to know exactly what they are dealing with in me, and probably whether I am worth the trouble, which I’m not._ Draco cowered into himself, his head bowed in resignation.

“Ok, both your expressions just darkened. I can understand that, because we’re not going to be talking about easy things. But if there are no objections, Draco you can start wherever you want, whenever you’re ready, and we’re here for you, listening.”

The delicate wind chimes outside made a slight sound. Near this high room, birds were singing. There was nothing like a beautiful day to really emphasise the dread in your heart, Draco thought, as if lead had been poured down your throat to solidify in your gut. You could look around at anything you wanted, but enjoy nothing. Draco knew what the first memory was; when they had dragged him in in front of Voldermort for the first time and raped him. He shuddered with the whole of his body at the thought. But maybe that wasn’t the first memory, maybe that was when he had been first captured. Or when he knew that his mother had been raped. Or maybe when his father failed Voldermort, and they knew that they would be punished, but could never have imagined how much. Or maybe his whole damn life was where things had gone wrong, maybe it was his accursed conception that was the problem.

Draco opened his dry, quivering mouth, but as usual no words came out, he looked at Luna didn’t seem to get whatever he was looking for, and finally he turned to Harry.

“Does he have to do this? I mean I know I don’t know anything about therapy, and I don’t want to stop this from happening if my objection is me making a mistake again and doing the wrong thing, but I can plainly see that Drake doesn’t want to, and in that case surely it’s wrong to make him. Maybe I should leave and he could tell you?”

“That’s a possibility, but there’s the argument that you should know as well, for Draco’s benefit if nothing else. You didn’t understand him enough before you both started to come and see me.”

“Yeah, but surely Draco comes first,” Harry looked at Draco again, who’s bony hands were clasped in utter submission as if he was waiting for a verdict.

“Look, here we are talking about Drake over him. That’s not right. He should decide. And if he can’t decide…we leave it.”

“Draco, what would you like to do?”

Draco didn’t want to have to speak and draw attention to himself, but he had to, otherwise he would have to tell them those terrible things.

“I, I, I,” Draco swallowed and took a breath. He closed his eyes.

“I don’t want…Harry, Harry-”

Harry felt alarm shoot through him. Draco didn’t want him?!

“I don’t want Harry to know…those bad things…” Draco trailed off.

Relief flooded Harry like a drug. “Ok. I’ll go. You say whatever you need to to Luna, I’ll never know. Don’t worry.”

“N-no, I mean, I, I don’t want to say…”

“Draco, why do you think you are here?” Luna liked to ask Draco this from time to time.

Draco considered. “So, so, so you know what I am, how, how bad I am. So, I mean, because Harry has a right to know if he’s supporting me and, and…and is involved with me, in that way…”

Luna let Draco finish. “No Draco,” She said sadly. “You come to therapy so that you can find help and peace, and to move forward.”

Draco thought that those concepts did exist, but not for him right now, and that they probably never would. He hated hearing about them because they only highlighted what he didn’t have. _If they think I’m capable of having peace then they don’t really know how I feel._ Such thoughts made him feel even more isolated.

“Do you want to tell me about what happened?” Luna asked.

Draco shook his head nervously, biting his lip.

“All right, that’s okay. You don’t have to now, or ever. Do you want to tell Harry about what happened?”

Draco seemed to be considering, and unsure.

“Do you want to tell Harry in private?”

“I, I, d-don’t know,” Draco said in a small voice.

“Is there a part of you that wants to tell Harry in private?”

Draco knew the answer to this question. “Yes,” he confessed.

Harry was touched by the fact that Draco chose him and him alone to confide in.

“Okay, well you two can work on that later together, and remember Draco, there’s no obligation on your part. Harry, please contact me, not about what Draco says at all, but about how to approach the situation.”

Harry nodded.

“Okay, and remember, we will have to talk about you as well eventually Harry, as I said, it is not only Draco who has been affected by the past.”

Harry nodded nervously.

***

A day had passed since they had last been to see Luna. Harry had had his morning flying session, and so was feeling relaxed and limber after feeling stuffy and frustrated in the morning. There were some shelves he had been trying to make, he knew a little carpentry, but those could wait a while. He made an omelette with tomatoes and on thinking that Draco might like half, he folded it over and cut it. Draco’s door was open, and he was positioned carefully on the bed, reading. Harry knocked and Draco’s eyes flew up.

“Hey,” Harry smiled gently. “Omlette?”

“Um,” Draco hated eating, but the baby needed food, and he was scared Harry would get angry otherwise. “Okay.” Harry’s cooking was nice to him anyway for some reason.

He took the plate from Harry, and cut a very small piece with his fork. Harry had noticed that Draco seemed to chew for ages, as if he was trying to make the food disappear in his mouth before swallowing.

Harry took a seat on a grand, comfortable dark wood chair.

“So I was wondering if you wanted to talk. We don’t have to obviously.”

Draco closed his eyes, then after a moment, slowly opened them. “I, a part of me, wants, wants to but…I just feel I can’t.”

Harry nodded. “I understand. Some things, you just can’t bring to the mouth. I know how it is. I still can’t say…well, I would tell you but I can’t say. Wait, I’ll try,” Harry seemed blocked. “Sirius is dead,” He blurted out. Then, a pause. “I said it, but it was hard. And I won’t say it again for a while.” Harry looked a lot more relieved now that he had said it and it was out of the way.

Harry nodded. “Well, that’s that.”

After a long pause in which Harry thought that Draco probably wouldn’t say anything, he said, “I, I was always afraid of my father,” in a whisper. He turned his head from Harry, and looked down, maybe he was staring at his bump. “Sometimes he seemed, I don’t know…glamorous to me. Maybe that’s the wrong word, I, I mean interesting, awe inspiring. Perhaps I wanted my life to be what I was pretending it to be and to feel what I was so desperately pretending to feel. I tricked myself into believing these things about my father. Maybe it was just easier to lie to myself. But I did have some feelings towards him maybe, at some point, even if I regret them, even if I don’t now, even, even, if they weren’t real,” Draco swallowed, surprised by his own relative eloquence. Perhaps this is what he needed to talk about, rather than what he had for breakfast and what he was going to have for lunch and the like.

Harry was hanging on Draco’s words, and really didn’t want him to stop, but he didn’t want to act too keen to listen to Draco and so put him off.

“You see, these thoughts about my father, they are something else that I regret because it’s another thing to add to my guilt and shame. I’m telling you that I don’t know how I feel about him, yet it was him that hurt me, hurt me so. It’s his beliefs that have led me to this awful place, well I don’t mean here necessarily, but in myself, in my life.”

Draco looked surprised at himself, and Harry thought that he was all talked out, but he went on. “My father used to beat me. Sometimes it got so bad and my life was hell and I could never see an end to the cycle. But at those times it also felt like it could get so bad that, that we could escape him, that’s to say, m-mother and I. In those times I became hopeful that she would leave him. Other times, when things settled, we had to pretend that those periods of abuse hadn’t occurred and my mother wouldn’t like it if you alluded to them. She supported me sometimes, betrayed me at others…the abuse got worse when Granger started to get better grades than me; my father saw it as a personal humiliation that a muggle born could do better than me. He liked to lie to himself and say that the politically correct muggle lovers were being soft on her, but he punished me never the less…with a cane…it was so humiliating, especially as I got older, it made me so angry, I could have killed someone Harry, killed someone, well, I almost did didn’t I? I couldn’t even take my anger out on him. Or he’d just punch and kick me with all his strength, it was as if it was cathartic for him, and that would really injure me. That’s when my numbness started, which is so, so awful. I felt like he thought it was embarrassing to beat me, which was why he did it, for some reason he enjoyed embarrassing me in that way.”

“He had other lovers, and he made it obvious to mother and I, but we couldn’t acknowledge this in public of course, the thought was laughable. Somehow he still saw himself as the ideal husband and father. He, he would look at me sometimes…” Draco’s voice faltered. “I didn’t like it. Other high up purebloods did it too. It was as if they owned you, and more, something more sinister. He used to slap me on the backside, I mean, but nothing else. Oh, once I was changing into my longjohns in a spare room because there was no one in it. Later, I got the sense that he had been watching…watching me. He looked at my legs once. When I, when I want to comfort myself with a thought, I think of how he’s dead, how he’s rotting, how he will never come back. This makes me happy. The thought of my father, that m-man, dead, fills me with happiness and relief,” Draco raised his head to look Harry in the eyes, and it was Harry who was taken aback by Draco’s frank, unclouded stare. “Thank you for killing him.”

“It was my pleasure,” Harry replied disturbingly. It wasn’t, Harry had never found ending a life enjoyable, even Voldermort’s, which hadn’t really been a life and who was the creature who had taken his parents lives. He had only ever taken the lives of those who had enjoyed taking the lives of others. “I wish I had known what he had done to you before I killed him, so I could remind him, so he knew it was retribution, that his time to pay had come.” This was true. Harry and Draco were having the kind of frank, dark conversation that most people avoid for fear of what it will reveal about themselves. And if such things exist in the corners of themselves, maybe they did in others.

“He’s gone now Draco, take solace.”

“Yes.”

“You are free of him.”

Draco paused, then nodded. He was again looking away.

“I would give you a hug but you know, I don’t want to you know, impose,” Harry said.

Draco thought about how lonely he was, how loneliness seemed to be eating into his bones. He thought about how it made him feel the treacherous numbness, and how his choice was either Harry or nothing. Besides this, he had feelings for Harry; he cared about him emotionally and was attracted to him sexually. Harry was an incredible catch by anyone’s standards. Draco wanted to have some warmth, for someone to hold him, tight, for someone to share and therefore lessen his pain with. He had grown rather addicted to closeness to Harry. Touch and holding someone seemed to be instinct, seemed to be what humans needed to survive.

“Um…” Draco said, and Harry instantly looked hopeful. “I wouldn’t m-m-mind a hug? Not too suffocating though, nothing else…don’t hurt me, please.”

“Ok,” Harry said slowly and clearly. “I’m going to move towards you very slowly, and just hug you.” He did. Draco watched him closely as he approached, his body tense. Then they were hugging, there was warmth, and they both seemed relieved. _This body is mean to fit mine,_ Harry thought. _I love this man so much._

It was Draco that made the small natural movements that suggested the embrace was over. Harry immediately moved away, and ran his hand through his hair in his habitual way, awkwardly. He was beaming because he had got to hug Draco though.

“I err, I don’t want to make what you told me about me, it’s obviously terrible, and it makes me so angry that that happened to you; someone that I love, that there are no words that I can speak that would be enough to comfort you in a way, nothing would make that right…but you’re not alone. I uh, well, like I said, some things are hard to say aren’t they? My uncle…he used to hit me a lot. It was bad. It was painful. He left marks and bruises. He broke bones. I hated myself. I hated him more. It makes me, I mean, made me…feel small. Sometimes I remember that feeling and start getting angry at people for no reason, thinking, I’m not small, I’m not small. Yeah.”

“I know that feeling.”

“Yeah. Maybe we can help each other?”

“That’s what I thought.”

And that’s when the baby started to kick again. _Not long now,_ it seemed to beat out. Not long now.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry about the delay, but you know, life! There's a couple things I wanna say to you first, firstly, I'm so so grateful for your feedback, it's encouraged me to be a better writer as well as just made me happy, so thank you again :D. Also, I was wondering if you guys would be interested in reading my original fic after experiencing some of my fan fiction? PEACE! Let me know what you think as ever,  
> WILLOW X X

Chapter 11

It was helpful for Draco to state the facts of his life to himself before doing anything in the morning. It helped them be less unbelievable.

_I’m going to physically give birth to a son that I am having with Harry Potter, today, tomorrow, the day after, or the day after. But quite possibly today._

He closed his eyes and took a long breath, and only opened them when the smell of the breakfast tray that Dobbie brought in and placed on the end of the bed hit his nose. There was granary bread and honey on the comb and local butter and jam, and a pot of tea. A whole pot, no, a lot of this stuff, was unnecessary, Draco thought.

“Good morning,” He said with a small smile.

“Good morning Draco Malfoy sir!” Dobby shouted. “The baby any day sir! Dobby is glad!”

Draco slowly began to have breakfast. Through a painful process of trial and error he had learned how to move his body, and he began the daily routine of eating, physically getting up (this took longer than one would expect and was more tiring; he _was_ huge) and going about his day, without becoming motionless for an indefinable stretch of time with thoughts that lead nowhere.

Harry was downstairs, full of nervous energy. This was a big day, an important day, a grand day. Draco could swear that even his baby knew he was arriving today. _There will be blood and butchering,_ Draco’s mind suddenly told him. He reeled and Harry must have seen, because in an instant he was being held. He looked up at Harry confusedly and Harry looked down at him, concerned.

“Today’s the day,” Harry whispered.

Draco swallowed, getting goose-bumps at Harry’s words. Oh hell, why was Harry so damn sexy anyway? Harry straightened him up and helped him into a chair.

“How’re you doing?” Harry asked, getting back to whatever he was doing on the counter.

“O-ok I suppose. Nervous, ex-excited, I, I want to meet him,” He didn’t know if he sounded stupid or not, but he was glad to see how big a smile he had given Harry.

“So am I, so am I.”

They spent their day till the afternoon quietly, in anticipation. Harry cuddling Draco softly on the sofa while they watched TV was the least of Draco’s problems, he had less of a mind to be frightened of the contact with what he was imminently facing. As usual Harry was actually watching the TV and Draco wasn’t. _How strange to have a TV, and such a big one, in this grand, old and obviously wizarding house,_ Draco had always thought. They had an assortment of all different cushions and blankets around them, and Draco had just been beginning to snooze.

“I must think of it this way,” Draco said in a sleepy voice. “Regardless of what happens, this time next week our son will be here with us, perhaps in front of the television where we are now.”

Harry held him tightly. Then clawing pains took hold of Draco’s abdomen, and he doubled over.

“He’s coming,” Harry said.

***

Everything at the private hospital had been set up for them in advance, all they had had to do was floo Pomfrey so that she and the specially selected delivery team could be there when Harry and Draco arrived. Harry and Draco were both surviving on adrenaline, and adrenaline would power them through this. Draco hoped that his adrenaline would last long enough. Harry was holding Draco’s hand fiercely. One could say so much through touch.

The pains were becoming more frequent and agonising. He could feel his breath catching and his positive sentiments crumbling. Anxiety crept in. Draco began to shake. Harry spun him expertly and held him, searching his eyes.

“Stay with me Draco,” Harry urged. “This is a natural process, your body can handle it.”

“Natural? I’m just about the most un-unnatural thing going.”

“No Draco, none of that now,” Harry shook his head, and Draco understood what he meant. He meant that whatever Draco felt about himself that Harry wasn’t trying to suppress, those feelings wouldn’t help in their present situation. Also, Harry meant that they would have a child soon, and that this would have to change Draco’s self-hatred towards himself. It wouldn’t be healthy for a child. Draco hoped he could put it away.

The lights seemed too bright to Draco, but he was enjoyed being taken away by his current of mixed feelings in a way. _My life will never be the same again!_

He was led by a nurse into a warm room with low lights provided by thick candles in the corners. It was both ominous and comforting, like a cave. The walls were of granite, and in the middle of the room was sunk an organic shaped tub.

Pomfrey followed in behind them and Draco was panting now, he had felt like he was losing his breath for a while. “I don’t want to pass out,” He said to Harry. It was important for him to communicate this.

“You won’t,” Harry said, stroking Draco’s arm.

“Ok Draco,” Pomfrey said loudly in doctor mode, marking that they were to begin, “Here’s a robe for you to put on.” Draco just looked at it, frozen, still being supported by Harry. _Oh god,_ he thought.

“Draco, you have to undress now,” Harry was urging gently. Draco looked at him as if to say, not you too.

“Mr Malfoy, we cannot deliver a child if you are fully clothed.”

Everyone in the room was looking at him, including two supporting nurses, and Draco couldn’t handle the pressure. His mouth began working furiously, and his eyes were searching all around, as if looking for a way to escape.

“Mr Malfoy, I appreciate that you’ve been through a lot of trauma and while I won’t ever understand it, I won’t undermine it either. But we need to deliver your child now. I’m sure that’s in our common interest.”

Despite all his apprehension, Draco knew that it was. He could do this not for himself, but for his child.

“Ok,” He said quietly, and went to start pulling his top over his head. However Pomfrey had taken his ‘ok’ to mean that she could vanish every scrap of his clothing, and he gasped, suddenly feeling the warm air on every part of his body. Before a moment had passed Harry had dressed him in the robe while covering him with his own body protectively, and was leading him with all of his endearment into the water, already ankle deep in it himself.

Draco somehow got himself into the water and into position with Harry in front of him, beckoning him.

Now that he was sat down, his body and his birthing seemed like a private world to Draco, or something wrapped up in a force field. He knew very well from his time of being in pain how getting up and walking to the other side of the room could feel like a huge task, how one’s experience of life could be reduced to looking inwards, to your own body, where sensing your body became like a superpower in how you could detect its most minor alterations. It was almost as if Draco could predict what his body would do a nanosecond before it did. Now what he felt was pain, pain. There was excruciating pain boring down on the very bottom of his spine, and that’s when his screams and cries started, and when the pleasant warmth and motion of the water stopped comforting him.

“Push, push!” Pomfrey was shouting at certain times, in the water herself, looking as vested in this birth as if she were next of kin. Only holding Harry’s hand seemed to keep him there, along with Harry’s intense, beautiful, large eyes. They were so full of emotion. The two other nurses were fiddling with pink and purple potions, these were probably pain killers. They looked under pressure. Wait, Draco shouldn’t look at them, they would make him nervous-

He wanted this child to be out now, not for his own sake or because he hadn’t enjoyed (was that the right word?) carrying it, but because it was time, high time, for both of them.

“Push now Draco, concentrate!” Pomfrey shouted again, and he was, amidst his cries, Draco didn’t think he had ever concentrated so much in his life. The pain was almost tingling in how uncomfortable it was, it was like an agonising tickle, or tickles added to agony; it just made him want to writhe, but he couldn’t writhe now, for a whole host of reasons.

“I love you Draco,” Harry whispered, and Draco could see in his eyes that Harry almost thought that he sounded stupid.

“I love you too,” Draco said, and how strange it was, that amidst this pain, he was reassuring Harry.

Things didn’t feel right inside Draco. Things were ripping, _he_ was ripping, down there, to become wider, to let the baby come out. This was acceptable, after all, he was just a vessel. The sting was absolutely awful though. He didn’t want to concentrate on the fact that even Harry looked worried, and that if even Harry lost faith and nerve then everything was lost. So he held Harry’s gaze, held…something, he wasn’t sure what, and Harry held it as well. They supported each other.

Another thing that Draco didn’t want to focus on was how the water was becoming red, redder, even though there must have been a filtering system. He continued to scream, Pomfrey continued to tell him when to push. Was that a timer she had in her hands?

The movements of the other nurses were too busy, he didn’t like it. They seemed to merge. He could say that he had almost gotten into the rhythm of pain and pushing, but how would that have been possible with how much pain he was in? After several hours, it was finally over, his baby was born.

 _I’ve done it and now I have something, forever_ , flashed through Draco’s mind. He smiled tiredly.

“And now sleep?” He asked Harry, dazed.

“Of course,” Harry assured.

And then he wanted all of this water away from him, but he couldn’t move.

“Wait,” He said seriously, “I want to see him before I sleep…”

“Of course,” Harry said again. Harry was holding a bundle, more gently than he had held anything in his life. Well, it was more precious than anything he had ever held in his life, apart from Draco. But a child was just different to a romantic partner and they both knew it.

Harry looked down into his son’s perfect, soft, squidgy, sleeping face and saw perfection. He was in love with him. His son’s eyes were wide open and curious, looking everywhere, and they weren’t Draco’s stormy grey eyes or his own shade of green, they were sky blue, like a nice warm day. His son was looking at him now, almost curiously.

 _He’s a genius_ , Harry already thought. And why shouldn’t he be? Hadn’t he brought his own father back from death? But Harry wouldn’t think about such a sad thing now. _My little man,_ he thought. He handed him over to Draco.

Draco fell in love with the boy as well, and thought that he already had his own identity, with his eyes being so different from both his and Harry’s. His son would be free and independent. He had Harry’s nose and features, and he was born with hair. This was of the same texture as Harry’s and almost exactly the same colour. It looked the same colour, until both his son and a smiling Harry were in his view; then he could see that his son’s hair was a good few shades lighter than Harry’s and looked almost chocolate brown, though it had looked brown-black.

“It’s good that he doesn’t look like me,” Draco tried to assure himself. “He doesn’t need my baggage or my terrible looks,” He tried to joke. “I was hoping he’d look like you anyway Harry.” Harry looked at him quizzically, hoping that this wasn’t Draco putting himself down again, but decided that this wasn’t the moment to question Draco.

Draco _had_ hoped that his son wouldn’t look like him, he didn’t want his accursed reputation to chase his beautiful son. It would be all the more protection for him to look like Harry, still there was something human about wanting his child to look like him that he suppressed, a twinge in his gut. Even his son was Harry’s, even his son couldn’t look like him. Wait, he was now taking the moaning too far, he should just get over it. Oh well, everything was Harry’s and now their son looked like Harry. He should accept it, he would. It was stupid not to. Those eyes though, those eyes that were big like the sky on a hot day, that were a warm, clear, unworried blue. Those were all his baby’s, his son’s, they belonged to-

Draco gripped Harry’s arm.

“What’s his name?” He said hysterically. It was the early hours of the morning.

“Er, I don’t know Draco. Whatever you want. We don’t have to think about it right now, the important thing is that he’s out and that you’re both safe and well. That’s more than I could have ever hoped for.”

“He needs a name, needs it in life.”

Harry knew how Draco’s mind worked, knew how pureblood values had instilled the importance of a name. He also noted that Draco seemed hysterical, and hoped that this wasn’t how he would be concerning their son from now on.

“Ok,” Harry conceded calmly. “What would you like to call him?”

“I don’t know Harry,” Draco said, as if Harry was being silly, and Harry marvelled at the paradox of Draco being so sure that their son needed a name and so unsure of what it should be.

“Well do you have any ideas?”

“Didn’t you want to call him James? I think that’s a good idea.”

“Wait, look, we don’t have to call him James. This…this is our experience. Being with you while you gave birth has shown me that more than ever. Let’s not call him something that’s only to do with me, something that I’ve chosen, let’s choose something together,” Harry smiled.

“Look, James was _your_ father. Besides that he was a hero, he was rich, his family are old. They’re linked to legends, to the Hallows. I think that James is a good, solid name for our son now, it’s well pitched.”

Harry considered Draco. “But, don’t you want to choose a name that you like? A name that you think suits him? That he’ll hopefully like? That makes you smile?”

Draco looked down. “What does it matter what I like?” He asked in a tired voice. He had been giving birth for hours and hours, time had seemed to become irrelevant during it. He couldn’t think clearly. “All the names that I, I, I like are, are old fashioned and would just seem random now. I don’t want to remind everyone of my part in this situation, I want to remind them of you. I am the negativity in this situation.”

“No you’re not Draco,” Harry was shaking his head. “You’re not thinking about this in the right way.”

“The public hate me anyway, why make them hate our son? He deserves the best chance he can get.”

Harry seemed to be becoming convinced, and this was partly because he wanted to be convinced. They probably only had a limited time to talk now anyway before Draco would have to be helped up. Harry looked down at the boy in his arms again, who’s eyes were now closed. He looked like the definition of peace. Every time he looked at his son, it was as if he were looking at him afresh. The way in which Draco was thinking about choosing names seemed sad to Harry, but he could understand it even if he didn’t agree with it.

Harry raised his son to his face, and just let their faces touch intimately. The sight made Draco feel warm inside, and for a moment, whole and happy.

“I’ll only call him James if you choose his middle name, which has to be a name that you actually like, regardless of what people would think. And it doesn’t matter if it’s old fashioned or whatever.”

“All right, all right,” Draco said. “James Abraxas then.”

“Deal.” Harry grinned his beautiful, lopsided grin. He considered for a moment how amazing it was that happiness exited for him.

Harry was happy with Draco’s choice of middle name. It wouldn’t have been something that he would have chosen, but then again James wouldn’t have been something that Draco would have chosen. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that the middle name Abraxas reflected Draco, who was an equal partner in the creation of their son, who should have his tastes and mark put upon his son as much as Harry should, so that their different perspectives blended to make James’s unique identity, until he began to shape it for himself. Harry couldn’t stop smiling. Abraxas wasn’t too bad sounding either, it had a ring to it. Abraxas, Abraxas.

Pomfrey came over, wiping her brow. Now that he thought about it, the room was sweating, it was really hot. Harry hadn’t really noticed or cared as there were far more important things going on. He also realised that he was mostly soaked from being in the pool, but again, he didn’t care.

“Nice idea about giving birth in water Drake.”

Draco smiled.

“Well Potter, I must say, I thought there would be complications, it could have been terrible, they could have both died-”

At Harry’s warning look, Pomfrey changed her tone, “But miraculously, and I really mean that Potter, er, Mr Potter, they both survived. Ah magic, you never quite know, anyhow, this baby is quite healthy, and by Jove, he’s huge! Good job,” She turned to the nurses, who both also looked pleased with the outcome of the situation, “Good job,” She said again. “I’m going to take him and let him rest in a suitable facility, and then assist Mr Malfoy here-”

“No!” Draco shouted desperately, clutching around him, as if he were considering getting up, which wasn’t even possible. “No!” He exclaimed again.

“What’s wrong Draco?” Harry said, instantly worried that Draco was in pain or that Pomfrey had jinxed things; that Draco really was hurt. He couldn’t bear the thought.

“I don’t want her to take James away. No. James stays with me.”

Harry pause for a moment. Yes, it did seem that Draco had taken on a hysterical, overprotectiveness towards James. It was understandable after everything that Draco had suffered, it was very understandable that Draco thought that the world was the dangerous place that it was and didn’t want his son to suffer in the same manner as himself, heaven forbid. But he trusted Pomfrey, trusted this exclusive hospital that had probably billed him a trillion galleons for this birth. Besides this, it was just plainly ridiculous that Pomfrey would steal or harm their baby.

“Draco, Poppy’s been with us the whole journey, she’s not about to do something now.”

“Yes, I can assure you Mr Malfoy that no harm will come to your son. Our team and I are the very best there is.”

“No,” Draco said obstinately, as if that was the only word he knew. “James stays with me.” His son was his. He had created something, he finally had something of his own. He wasn’t going to give him away or let him come to harm.

Poppy and Harry exchanged a look in which Poppy was blatantly asking for permission to override Draco’s neurosis, and Harry was thinking about all that he had learned fairly recently in sessions with Luna about not doing that sort of thing.

“Ok,” Harry sighed. “Ok. James stays with Draco.”

“Mr Potter, please consider that Mr Malfoy in his exhausted state, is probably more of a danger to the infant than my team.”

“Regardless, I’m not willing to take away Draco’s rights like that. You know about that, yeah? Patient’s rights and all that. James stays with Draco, and I’ll freshen up somewhere and go and join them in their room.”

Pomfrey nodded in obvious disagreement, and Draco looked at Harry gratefully. He mouthed _thank you_ to Harry. Something about Draco’s mouths moving deliberately and slowly in that manner made Harry’s spine tingle. No, it would not be good to dwell on sexy thoughts now, or maybe ever, he added, in a sad, undeniable realisation. Who knew when, or if, Draco would be ready? After everything that had happened, good and bad, who knew if they could resume a romantic, sexual relationship again.

Draco noted that Harry looked sad as he handed James over to him. Oh. Maybe Harry wanted to have James, but Draco just felt like he desperately, madly needed his child with him. As he clutched his sleeping son, his boy, he felt his eyes finally begin to rest, and Harry stepped back as Pomfrey motioned for the assisting nurses to come and help safely lift Draco (by magic) and move him to his room. One nurse was in charge of keeping him in position while another was in charge of levitation. Pomfrey was in charge of direction.

“Ugh, it’s like moving a fat cow,” Draco muttered to himself in disgust. He wasn’t joking or trying to be dramatic, he really meant it.

“No it’s not Draco,” Harry assured. “We’re all on your side and no one’s judging you. Just er, be carefuly of James. You seem more than tired. You’ve been in labour for hours.”

“Not the logest labour,” Pomfrey interjected.

“Do you think I would drop him?” Draco asked a little madly.

Harry didn’t say anything.

They had stayed in Draco’s hospital room for just over a week. Conversation had been muted, but not necessarily hostile. Draco looked exhausted but happy, something about him seemed to shine. He was either sleeping as peacefully as an angel, or so Harry thought, neither moving or showing any signs of disturbance, or admiring James. James was certainly beautiful and enthralling. Harry was hooked on spending time with him as well, but he sort of had to edge around Draco to spend time with him, as Draco was so absorbed with him.

All of the doctors and nurses had commented on how alert and bright James seemed, even at this early stage. They had had a few visitors in the shape of Hermione and Ron and their children, and Molly and Arthur. Bill and Fleur were due that day. Ron hadn’t held back on repeatedly commenting on how strange it was that Harry and Draco had had a child together, but he was of course pleased that Harry had had wish of having a child fulfilled.

When Harry looked at James it was as if he could see that James was really pleased with himself. James lay there, chubby and relaxed as you like. He seemed to have an intuition for who his parents were and that he was safe. Molly and Arthur had brought him some of their children’s old things, and although this was touching, Harry felt that they did this more to create a touching gesture, rather than because Molly genuinely wanted to give things to Draco. Molly’s whole disproval of Draco greatly depressed Harry. Arthur seemed more accepting, knowing that life was unpredictable and that random events could often decide your life rather than will, but he wasn’t willing to challenge Molly.

Harry walked upstairs from getting another coffee after trying to hunt down the witch with the food trolley, (what was it with the wizarding community and their fondness for food trolleys anyway?), found her, bought some snacks (he loved snacking) and went back to Draco’s room. As he entered, Draco and Harry exchanged looks of apprehension, and familiarity and it’s opposite. He sat next to James’s clear glass cot (the wizarding world didn’t seem to favour plastic) and absently took James’s hand. He could almost see his son’s smile without looking at it. He felt in perfect harmony with him. He understood first hand why James brought Draco so much peace.

“Harry?”

“Mm?” Harry replied, opening a packet of chocolate frogs. Normally he would offer whoever he was with some, but in Draco’s case there were too many implications riding on him offering Draco food.

“I, I always used to be in pain…have many aches all over from old injuries and wounds. It was more or less constant. After having the baby, I still feel very tired, but not in pain, it’s such a relief.”

Harry looked very happy. “That’s fantastic. I’m glad. I didn’t like the thought of you in so much pain all the time for no reason…at all.” Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust at the memory. “Why do you think it’s gone?”

“Well, I have an idea. I think that being, I mean, bearing James, helped, healed me somehow.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose, and they both looked over at their son in the way that they seemed to do in unison so much. James was wriggling his unbelievably tiny feet.

“You do sound like you’re in pain less,” Harry said. “You’re talking more easily and you sound relieved Drake.”

Draco smiled. The silence stretched out between them.

“I still have no magic,” Draco said randomly, as if to say, I don’t want us to get carried away, things aren’t as perfect as we’re going in the direction of believing.

“I know Draco. Hey, you know when we decided to call him James?” Harry said.

“Yes?”

“Well, obviously I like the name, but I just wanted to say to you, don’t give up your rights. Not just in this case, I’m just telling you generally. I don’t want you to easily concede your rights when there’s a decision to be made, that’s not the way to resolve a decision.”

Draco just looked at Harry.

“Look I know I’m not the best person to tell you that,” Harry squirmed. “But I’m going to put the things I say into action.”

“Okay,” Draco said quietly. He seemed like he wanted the thread of conversation to end. Harry didn’t know which of his statements he was saying okay to. He hoped it was both.

“We could call him James Black-Potter?”

Draco smiled. “You don’t have to do this. I’m happy with his name. Look, I’ll bear what you’ve said in mind.”

Harry had been mulling what he had been going to say to Draco over for a while, and because of this had actually grown quite fond of the surname ‘Black-Potter’, but didn’t want to push the issue.

He decided on a change of subject. “You know before, well, at some point, you mentioned the Hallows?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it might interest you to know that I possess all of them.”

Draco was warmed by the mischievous way in which Draco was grinning. Sometimes Harry seemed so boyish and young.

“Apparently I’ve defeated death…” Harry continued more contemplatively. “That’s hardly what I’ve attempted to do in my life, and it’s not something that I fear. Weird how you get what you don’t care about so easily huh?”

“Wait a moment, you possess the Hallows?! That’s simply extrodinary Harry, that boggles the mind. I suppose there’s no point in telling _you_ that so many people have died coveting such a thing. But many witches and wizards throughout memorable wizarding history, rich, well known families…I mean, that’s just so rare, so unusual, you’re being so blaze about it…ah Harry, what am I going to do with you? You possess the Hallows…bloody hell.”

Draco didn’t often swear. Harry laughed.

“I’d hardly say you gained them with ease though Harry. And maybe that’s why you have them, why you’re able to keep them; because you don’t fear death. Maybe that’s why you defeated, V-V, ugh, _him_. That’s one of the differences between you.”

“I don’t fear my own death,” Harry said, meeting Draco’s eyes. “Never have.”

Draco swallowed. Again, he felt guilty for his suicide attempt.

Meanwhile Harry was marvelling at Draco’s eloquence. This was Draco; calm, poised, elegant. He was so glad to witness him like this.

“What are you going to tell me you have next?” Draco joked.

“Err, loads of stuff, most is stashed up in the attic. You know, sometimes I think that our house is _too_ big. I have the Mirror of Erised in a room by itself somewhere, against the wall, save for a couple brackets. It’s got a curtain over it though, you know, with a proper pole and everything.”

“Christ,” Draco shook his head. “You really are ‘Harry Potter’.”

Harry’s expression became offended at this.

“Oh Harry, I didn’t mean that. I know you.”

***

Harry and Draco had eventually gone home, and had resumed, a peaceful, if sometimes too quiet life. Well, too quiet apart from James, when he wasn’t crying. He screamed, a lot. He made all manner of sounds.

Draco was still painfully shy and body conscious by anyone’s standards, but when Harry considered what he had been when he had first…found him, not that this was something he could bear to linger on, he had improved so much. Still, in all of this time Draco hadn’t been out by himself, made any friends (unless one counted Fluer, who he got on surprisingly well with. Harry decided he would count her), or had any interaction with anyone he didn’t have to directly interact with. Anyway, Harry decided that improvement was improvement. He tried not to be bogged down by how much there was to go because otherwise there’d be no strength with which to continue.

Harry had no sexual interaction with Draco. They talked a lot, and sometimes these talks lead to deep feelings of love on both sides, and sometimes they lead to flirting which lead to an arousal that they were both aware of. Neither of them acted on it. Harry just ended up feeling awkward and impotent, and Draco focussed all of his energy on James, who he was with all the time, whispering to, cuddling, and sleeping next to. Harry doted on James too, like any loving father would, but it was different to how Draco was with James; he seemed to live and breathe him. _It’s almost as if he’s using James as a shield again me_ , Harry thought. It was so pleasing for Harry to have Draco and his son in his home with him, but he didn’t know if it was enough if he was honest with himself. What he did know was that he didn’t want or have the strength to end things with Draco. Harry felt sort of left out in the relationship that Draco had with James. He would have put this down to him being dramatic again, despite what people thought Harry did know himself, but it was hard to think that it was just his perception when Draco spent every waking second with James.

Draco had kept away from the media, he deftly shunned it like an art. Harry could understand how he could do it, it was because it had hurt him so. Harry kept away from it as well, but it didn’t exactly help alleviate the insular way in which they lived. They saw Luna sporadically, sometimes together, sometimes apart. They didn’t go to her when they felt too tired emotionally. Harry thought it was ok to sometimes need a break from counselling.

Harry never saw James being fed, and didn’t ask to obviously, because he didn’t want to intrude, though needless to say, he was curious. He had purchased the required pump in the end and given it to Draco. He assumed it was being used. He was more than slightly aroused at the thought of Draco producing milk, and he had fantasised more than once about trying it, though he had tried to make himself stop. He hated the cycle of shame that he felt with Draco; the feeling that he shouldn’t feel attraction or arousal but feeling it anyway. What was so wrong with being attracted to his partner anyway?

But they were so comfortable with each other. One morning Draco was in the kitchen, his face full of love as he talked to James, and Harry fell into easy conversation with him. Suddenly it was there, that energy, that feeling when you know that a kiss is about to happen. He knew what he was like and so searched Draco’s face for confirmation. It seemed to mirror what he felt, but he couldn’t be sure, not with his past.

“Draco I…hell, would you like to kiss?”

Draco thought that he might regret it later (not regret it because he didn’t want to kiss or he wasn’t attracted to Harry), but then again he might not, and he did want to kiss. “Yes,” he said in a sexy, breathy voice, his full red lips looking even fuller and softer and kissable.

Harry leaned in slowly, tenderly, and with consideration. He pressed his mouth on Draco’s with relief, and tried to convey urgency and all of his emotions in the kiss. As he ran his hands over Draco’s face and the back of Draco’s neck, softly, softly, he tried to tell Draco how much he cared about him through his movements, how in awe of him he was. Draco was here, he was so real. He was Harry’s . Harry thought he was so lucky.

Draco liked giving himself to Harry, not in general but in the kiss, for that moment, under controlled conditions. It felt that Harry was looking after him in the kiss, their kiss together felt like something that people couldn’t get in and destroy, especially after all of the poisonous things that had been written about them. Draco had learnt that there was a profound difference between total submission and controlled, chosen submission where the power was retained by the submissive. He hugged Harry during the slow, delicious waves of the kiss in which their tongues danced, offering his own comfort. Finally the kiss was over.

They didn’t talk about the kiss that they had shared much after it had happened because they didn’t want to shatter whatever fragile, good thing had been created between them. Besides for both of them, sometimes the words were too many. Sometimes one just needed to feel.

That night as they watched TV again with James snoozing in the corner of the room by an ornate radiator in a luxurious quilt-nest they had made him (Draco liked to literally molly-coddle him), Harry made the contact that they were sharing more of a deliberate hug than a coincidence, and Draco snuggled his body that felt like it needed Harry into Harry’s strong arms. The smell of Harry’s small, hard, tight body was intoxicating for Draco, he felt like he was drinking it. Suddenly something came over him, he wanted to bite, he wanted to feel, he wanted to…hell, he wanted to rub himself, hard, how could that be?! And he wanted to touch Harry in the same way. Of course he would never do it, for so many reasons. His face flamed. He was still sore, _down there._ He had had stitches because Pomfrey had been concerned about too much magical intervention with his body. Stitches; what an appalling muggle practice. He didn’t even want to think about how he looked down there, probably worse than ever. That was the no-go zone. That was the area that he knew was hideous so he just dealt with it by telling himself that it would never be interacted with, or even looked at.

“Drake are you ok? Your face feels hot.” Harry peered down at him.

“I’m fine,” Draco smiled. Smiles like that made Harry forget where he was or what was going on. If Draco accessed everything that he was he would be so strong. He would intimidate Harry in all his glory, not that Harry would mind.

James slept in Draco’s room. Harry enjoyed taking him up the stairs for once. Harry may have possessed all sorts of magical artefacts, or junk basically, as he liked to think of it, but his family were the highest treasure to him. He thought back again to Draco’s line of though in the hospital, how perhaps he only had things like the Hallows because he didn’t really want them. On a different note Harry also still felt excluded from Draco and James’s relationship, but thought that he had no right to question it too much, especially in light of some of his past actions. Harry only spent about three hours a day in Draco’s company, the rest of that seemed to be in the house with Draco, where he was hyper aware of the man’s presence, but not actually with him. All of the other time, Draco was holding James, cooing at him, whispering to him, holding him like a life raft. Well, if James was his cure, his brand of medicine, that was fine with Harry. He did wonder if it was normal though, but couldn’t be bothered to have Luna map everything out for him without considering the bizarre shape of life. Harry also wondered how long he would be atoning for his wrongs, and whether it would be forever. He hated how it held him prisoner. That was a good argument against doing wrong against your loves ones in the first instance.

James was settled and they got ready for bed in a hushed way. As Harry brushed his teeth in his room, Draco had a slightly excited, maybe even reckless feeling. He had that feeling where all of the reasons against something melt away, because you want something so much. He wanted to hold Harry, he wanted to touch him in intimate ways. He wanted to feel Harry’s need and urgency. He desired Harry.

“H-H-Harry?” He called in a very timid voice. He seemed to curl around his own doorframe.

“Yeagh?” Harry’s mouth was still full of foam.

“Would you, I mean, we could, er…” His words were getting stuck again, damn it! Harry was rinsing his mouth out.

“What?” Harry thought that Draco would suggest he sleep downstairs or something, that he just couldn’t handle Harry being around after all of their cuddling on the sofa. He would go as well if Draco were to suggest it; again he was atoning. Damn it, he wanted to be free!

“Could you, I mean, only if you want, stay, with me that is, stay, I mean just cuddle, in my bed, I mean only cuddling please, if that’s ok.”

Harry felt like he couldn’t believe that he had been blessed with such a suggestion.

“Of course,” He blinked. He was all ready for bed, and followed Draco into his bedroom. Draco felt safer with Harry for having his son there, he felt safer and more confident for having his son anyway. Draco hadn’t used his cane for a little while, he could walk straighter, walk tall in every sense. His cane leant against the wall neatly as a testament of Harry’s love and power.

He loved this Harry that was following him into the room, this soft, bewildered, strong man in simple cotton clothes. They lay down in the warm bed that had two thick, queen sized duvets over it as Draco got just too cold during the night. Harry was just staring at Draco with an open expression, trying to hide his tension, trying to keep his breathing even. Harry felt like he gave everything of himself to the surface that he was lying on. Wordlessly, Draco made a move to be embraced by him, by sliding his arms under Harry’s. Without further prompt Harry held Draco tightly and Draco returned the embrace; they held each other as tightly as it was possible for two people to hold each other, without touching groins, as that would have caused Draco pain for one thing. Harry exhaled, long and hard, and maybe made a whimpering sound. Draco was the one with the power in the situation.

“I don’t want to do anything sexual,” Draco confirmed. He could feel Harry nodding against his neck, driving him wild with his softness, his realness, his Harry-ness. “But I do want us to hug. All night. I’ve missed your body.”

And I’ve missed yours,” Harry said thickly, before Draco’s words were even out. Harry was hiding his face in Draco’s neck, hiding the depth of his emotion. Draco could guess that he was close to the edge, close to tears, and he didn’t want to push the man, he knew the seriousness of the situation, knew how much love Harry felt for him, finally, even though he didn’t and may never agree with it or feel that he deserved it. He smiled at Harry’s vulnerability to himself, touched by it. All night they breathed each other in. There was absolute stillness. Well, until James began screaming that was, which he liked to do, a lot. Harry dealt with it efficiently, although Draco seemed to rise automatically as if even deep sleep couldn’t keep him from James’s call.

The next few months passes like this, with tender embraces all night that they had been hungry for. Harry was still slightly irked by Draco and James’s relationship, but he said nothing. Harry had no idea that every night Draco thought about taking their intimacy further, although Harry felt that he couldn’t even hope for such a thing, but Draco knew himself well enough to know that it would change everything good that they had finally managed to have, and that he would become confused and disturbed even if he would find it initially gratifying. So. They kept as they were.

James had been born on the 23rd of March, making him an Aries. Draco, who was from an old wizarding family, took astrological signs seriously, because he knew that if you were to educate yourself about their subtle symmetry to people’s characters, they rang true. After all, all wizards knew the divination of centaurs to be true, and divination, though an often wrongly practiced discipline by the ill-informed, was still considered a viable practice. Sun signs only scratched the surface of astrology, and astrology on scratched the surface of the sea of divination, but still, it was interesting to Draco, who liked to take an academic interest in things. He didn’t mention it to Harry because Harry would think that it was ridiculous and superstitious. He had been brought up to look down on magic, and still did so without realising. Actually, maybe Draco should mention _that_ to him at some point. Draco was a Scorpio. Harry was a Leo. Their family made for an interesting household. It was to these thoughts that Draco fell asleep again after Harry had settled James again and returned to bed half asleep himself. They were trying to balance the difficult path of holding each other affectionately as much as possible without it become sexually charged. Draco would never do anything of a sexual nature with James in the room anyway.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiii guuuuuyyysss I haven't been around much due to boyfriend/work/general life boring stuff, but I couldn't really let this story go so here's another chapter. I'll be editing it, (proofreading, spellchecking etc) after I post it, so get ready for it to alter a bit and generally get better. I might also do this to other areas of the story. Also, a lot of people have pointed out to me that Harry's behaviour is/has been abusive, and remember, I don't condone it! I'm just showing it! And it's ok to be annoyed at his character, I get it. Enjoy!

Chapter 12

Things were better than they’d ever been, but it still irked Harry to come home and find that Draco had been holed up with James all day, just staring at him, whispering to him, as if he didn’t even want to raise his voice to break the silence. This behaviour was weird to Harry, unnatural. He reasoned with himself that conversely, he hadn’t been expecting Draco to do much else, he would have been downright surprised if Draco had decided to take James for a long walk (though it wasn’t a bad idea), but he still couldn’t bear the stagnation of his family and them spending all of their time in one room when there was a whole world out there, along with everything that Harry could provide. He wanted to at least see that both James and Draco were up and dressed and doing something constructive in the house. Perhaps this was too much of a specific request.

Harry knew that Draco didn’t like squalor, no, not since he had been forced to exist in his own filth for so long under circumstances that Harry tried hard not to think about, and probably not before then. He was always clean and neat and smelling gorgeous, and the room was always tidy, it was just that he happened to be in pyjamas and not really moving around very much. James was a growing boy, he had to be out and about and experience a little rough and tumble. Harry wanted to get James a broom eventually, Draco just wanted to give him soft toys to play with all day. _Stay calm,_ Harry told himself, _be reasonable. It’s not so long ago that things were a lot worse. You’ve got your family in your home and they’re safe, that should be enough._ It was funny how as soon as things improved in your life, you forgot how far you had come and how lucky you were, and simply readjusted your perspective to yearn for something else just as much.

Harry had been out for a drink with Ron. There hadn’t been any alcohol involved, god no, not after Harry finally realised too late that the substance abuse made him even more insufferable than usual. They had just had a coffee round Ron’s, and finding themselves empty handed where they would have normally held beer bottles, a couple of packets of crisps. Now he had come to find Draco not in the lounge or the kitchen, not in the many parlours or whatever they were, (rooms with a lot of space where there had probably been balls), and not in the elaborate garden, even though it wasn’t too miserable a day for London. Draco and James weren’t anywhere to be seen until Harry reached the floor where their rooms were, and even then he hoped that Draco and James would be in his room, just for variety. But no, their muffled sounds came from Draco’s bedroom. Harry sighed, knocked, and went in.

Harry’s stance instantly softened as his eyes fell on Draco, who was looking at him with open, stormy eyes. Draco hadn’t become any less beautiful with familiarity, if anything it amazed Harry that he still found Draco breathtaking every time he saw him. Harry closed the door quietly behind him.

“Hello,” He said.

“Hi,” Draco smiled. “How was Ron?”

“Same as usual. We just chatted a bit and watched a bit of football. After all these years he’s finally gotten his head round the rules and now seems to quite enjoy it.”

Draco smiled. James was gargling on his back in a onesie, and the both paused to admire him.

“Draco…” Harry began. “It’s not good for you to be holed up like this everyday, not right, especially when you have a child. Look, it’s not healthy for James.”

Draco turned away, not in denial, but as if he knew this conversation had been coming. He was biting his lip in his tantalising way.

“I’d feel better about it if you went out at least sometimes, or did you know, constructive things together I guess. This is going to give James bad habits.”

Draco looked as if he couldn’t deny what Harry was saying. He looked guilty, he loathed the thought of doing anything to harm his son, whom he cherished in such a desperate way.

Harry waited. He didn’t want to push things too much…that was the difficult thing about relationships, well, _another_ difficult thing. You wanted to be heard, but you didn’t want to cause strain, and there was a very thin line between the two.

Draco sighed. “I know,” He nodded quietly. “I know. Sometimes…I become afraid in this house. Paranoid I suppose. I’m, I, I’m af-afraid of everything. And now that I have, we have James, I don’t want anything to hurt him. Absurd as it is, that’s all I can think.”

“Oh Draco,” Harry kneeled down behind him in the too hot room in all of his outdoor clothes and gave him a hug from behind, which Draco seemed to appreciate. He took it to mean that Harry wasn’t too angry with him. They were embracing these days, as they had been for a while, and kissing, and showing intimacy, but nothing more, otherwise Draco would go rigid as a cadaver left in the ice.

“It’s going to take time to break this habit though,” Draco said lucidly, “And uh, you may find me resistant in not so strong a frame of mind before it is through.”

“That’s fine. That’s life isn’t it?” Harry started to reassure and repair after gaining all that he had wanted; an admission that Draco had been wrong. He thought that it would have been harder to obtain that. “You get through difficulties, and you improve without realising it I guess, and you enjoy the moments in between together.” Harry smiled at Draco. He meant it. Again they embraced. Harry leant his forehead or Draco’s and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He then planted a rough kiss on Draco’s forehead and squeezed him, before stroking his son’s cheek.

In that moment, for some reason, (most likely Harry’s intimacy) Draco considered how he wouldn’t have been able to do so much if it weren’t for Harry, he just didn’t know what he’d do without him. Not that he’d necessarily phrase it is such a needy way – although why not? Why not be honest in closed quarters, where bearing yourself a little bit more after having being bared a lot didn’t mean anything?

“Why don’t you arrange to go and see Fleur?” Harry suggested brightly. “Yeah, you two get along like a house on fire. You could go round to her’s, take James, and Bill will be there as well, so you can chat to him and get to know him as well, and he’ll get to know James.” Neither of them mentioned that it would be Draco’s first outing by himself. Draco thought that that was a bit tragic really, he always expected more from himself, he always had. Whatever he was at any particular time had never been enough. The upside of this was that it could enable one to achieve a lot, the downside was constant disappointment in yourself.

“Perhaps,” Draco inclined his head neutrally. His movements were so graceful. Harry gave a half smile and went to get out of his clothes. He left Draco’s door open.

***

Harry had been to see Shakelbolt that day. He had had this vague notion of returning to work, on a part-time or, better still, project by project basis, but he wanted the nature of the work to be different, but then, only slightly. Essentially, he wanted to be an auror with a more academic approach who dealt in mysteries, who perhaps worked for the department of the aforementioned, ultimately against dark magic. He didn’t know. He had just wanted to talk it over, and Shakelbolt, for all his sombirety, had an open door policy. Harry wanted to be absolutely sure that he wanted to return to work, which was why he was sitting on the fence. He didn’t want work to make him stressed and drink and return to bad habits, not that anything could do this, he shouldn’t blame external things and take responsibility, as Luna had told him. It was just that work had not brought out the best in him. It had reminded him of Voldermort and The War and a sense of inevitable death… Anyway, where was Draco?

Draco was in his bedroom again, casually but completely dressed to perfection. How could he do that anyway? How could he make ordinary clothes that he, Harry, probably looked like a slob in, seem luxurious and perfectly tailored? Harry thought that it was in the way that Draco carried himself. Draco was not effeminate, and Harry was always extremely irritated at the false suggestion, but he had a ballerina-like control over his body. Harry thought that after everything, control was probably exactly what Draco wanted.

James was dressed too, and the room was in perfect order. Draco hadn’t removed or altered anything as Harry had requested him not to, not that he necessarily wanted to, but he had painstakingly arranged it, even if it was a case of opening drawers and angling all the scraps of paper to be straight. Perhaps his behaviour was slightly obsessive…

“All right?” Harry tried to say cheerfully. After all, he was as happy as ever to see his family.

Draco inclined his head with a smile, and carried on doing whatever craft he and James had been doing on an old sheet with decorations and coloured paper.

“What are you guys up to?” Harry asked.

“We’re making a card,” Draco answered neutrally.

“For who?” Harry asked, as if he couldn’t fathom that there were people to make cards for. Draco stiffened imperceptibly.

“For Mrs Weasley’s birthday Harry,” Draco said slowly. Then Harry had remembered that just over a week ago Draco has asked for a list, which had turned out to be very long, of the important dates in the lives of all those who were significant to Harry and by default, their son. Harry had eventually compiled this list more through the help of his friends than his own effort, and now Draco and James spent all of their time (seemingly) creating cards.

“Oh,” Harry said. “Don’t you want to you know, do something else?” To Draco, who had refined social receptors, the worthlessness of his actions to Harry couldn’t have been more obvious.

“Harry, I’m trying to do _something_ ,” He countered, and miraculously, Harry understood and nodded.

Draco sighed.

“What’s wrong?” Harry said. He hoped that he hadn’t been too rude, but wouldn’t hold his breath.

“Oh, I, I wish that we were married, for James’s sake,” Draco blurted, as if he was finally getting something that had been stuck in him for a while off his chest. He visibly seemed to reduce and relax after confessing this.

Harry gave Draco a measuring look for a long moment, stock still. Finally he said, “That would have been the perfect sentence, if you hadn’t said, ‘for James’s sake’”. Harry sounded hurt, but also accepting, as if he knew that Draco didn’t care for him with the intensity that he cared for Draco, and Draco was suddenly ashamed, and wanted to prove Harry wrong. He also felt fierce; the man that he loved, truly loved, should know he was loved. This was a matter of pride to Draco, his love was so strong that it wounded him personally for it to be misunderstood. Love was not a joking matter to Draco, it was sober, unmoving, like stone. He knew that he had just hurt Harry’s pride too.

“Of course I want to be married to you,” Draco snapped, not wanting to waste time in misunderstanding. “You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted to be married to, the only person I’ve ever loved and could picture myself alongside. Most likely I wanted to marry you the day I set eyed on you at eleven years old. I would have if I could. But alongside this, I recognise that our unity would provide security for our son, even if you want to reduce the importance of that particular dimension.” Harry was just staring at him. Draco sighed again. “Listen, besides what I've already stated, it’s the proper thing to do. Harry, I am not like you, I do not feel comfortable, I mean, it is not in my nature to…keep declaring my love. It’s not that I do not want to declare it to you, it’s, it’s only my character, I suppose. I live with you every day and sleep beside you ever night and have borne your son. In life I am beside you. I expect you to understand, to recept, to see.”

Harry stood, dumbfounded. Then, in a moment where Draco wasn’t sure what had happened, Harry was holding him tight, and burying his face in Draco’s neck.

“We’ll get married,” Harry mumbled fiercely. “We’ll have the best fucking wedding in the whole world. You’ll have whatever you want. I love you, I love you, I love you,” Harry patterned feverish kisses over Draco’s face and neck. Draco laughed, and then felt concerned that Harry’s face seemed damp as he nuzzled Draco. Draco made a mental note to perhaps not incite such intense emotion from Harry in the future.

That night they slept together in the same bed, as they had been doing for just under a year now, but their joint presence there seemed extra significant after their declarations to marry. Draco felt that there was a slight pressure on him in a way, or on both of them, and that perhaps there was a little awkwardness, given that their sex life was non-existent but they were still planning to spend the rest of their lives together. Draco could tell when Harry was on the same wavelength as him (those moments were just seamless, like art), and now he wasn’t; Harry was snuggling up to him, his mind a million miles away, perhaps thinking about his meeting with Shakelbolt. He was ignoring Draco, Harry wouldn’t have been able to if he had tried, it was that whilst acknowledging and appreciating Draco, his mind was having free reign to roam, the way minds do before sleep, (which was why this was when Harry had his best ideas).

Draco didn’t want sex. Well, maybe he did. No, no, what was he thinking? He couldn’t possibly want… _that._ But if he were honest with himself, which he didn’t like not to be because it was what cowards did, he did feel sexually frustrated. And if a man like Draco who had had little interest in romance before what had happened to him, let alone after, could feel such a way, he couldn’t imagine how frustrated Harry was. Did he want sex only to please Harry on some level? He did want to please Harry generally, in every way on some level, but this was not all about Harry, and he wouldn’t cop out by making it so. This was about Draco. Draco sighed imperceptibly.

“Ok Drake?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Harry kissed him softly on the cheek and Draco’s breath caught. Damn it he wanted to be touched, and not just lovingly now, but lustfully. He wanted to be aroused and in charge of his arousal, to own it and taste it. One of the thousand things that held him back was knowing that the sexual acts, and not Harry, would repulse him later, make him feel sick, lethargic and confused, like he couldn’t separate anything in his mind – like everything was one great mess. But he wanted it now, he couldn’t help it. God, he hated feeling helpless. He hated himself in the very rare moments that he wanted sex, they made him feel disgusting, like he had wanted all of those things that had happened to him before Harry had found him. They made him feel like a whore. For him to be sexual was sick and wrong. He sighed again, fevered, irritable, trying to ignore his body. He felt restless, and now quite uncomfortable. He was painfully embarrassed at the idea of Harry knowing of the waves that were passing through him. He was starting to feel a little panicked with guilt – guilt always brought on terrible depression for him. It really didn’t help that Harry’s leg was innocently between Draco’s thighs; in this way horrible coincidences occurred.

Draco started to harden. He made a desperate, frightened sound. Slowly over a few agonising minutes, he hardened fully. He was certain without doubt that Harry could feel this. Now he could sense Harry’s alertness, not just his own, could feel Harry moving out of sleepy wakefulness or wakeful sleepiness and becoming attuned to both of their bodies.

After an endless minute that seemed to be a defining moment, the kind where the consequence of two different outcomes could mean dramatically different circumstances to deal with, Harry gently but surely removed his leg and rolled over to sleep on on a cooler patch of the bed. Fuck, he would need that coolness to cope with the friction between him and Draco that was caused by so little. He was always so amazed at the power Draco had to move and affect him with very little effort, when a lot more had touched him a lot less. Harry had always thought it was just himself getting uses to being sexualised, but now he knew that it was because he had never known a love like Draco. He thought then how lucky he was to have found it.

Harry’s rejection humiliated Draco and made him furious. He would explode, he was sure, on one hand he wanted to engage in sexual activity, even if only momentarily, wanted it like hunger, like thirst, on the other he was terrified and disgusted by it. Harry realised that Draco was making a moaning sound. It wasn’t enticing; it sounded like dread.

“Draco…?” Harry began to say, but still making sounds of frustration, Draco snatched up Harry’s hand and pressed a hard, dry kiss on the back of it, as if Harry’s hand was the first thing that he could think to reach. Harry froze.

“Draco,” He sighed, “What would you like to do?”

Draco’s mouth was hoarse, he couldn’t get any words out in the pitch dark. James was fast asleep. “I, I want, I mean I think I want you know, I feel like I need…ugh Harry! Help me,” his words descended into sobs. Draco hated to beg or sob, but this was their private realm, in their bed, where the most private of things happened secretly.

“I mean obviously you don’t want…”

“What on earth are you talking about Draco?”

“You, y-you, well you turned away…”

Harry paused. “Drake, I turned away to make you more comfortable and frankly, because I didn’t know what to do. I’m nervous as well Draco, it feels like starting again for me too. I’m happy to do whatever you want, whatever makes you comfortable,” Harry squeezed the hand that was clutching his. “But if you do want us to have sex I want you to be sure, as much as I want that too.” Fucking Christ, it took the steadiness and calm of a rock to get through this relationship, Harry thought. Not that he blamed Draco, oh no, quite the opposite, he blamed himself. This was just how it was. When you had love like theirs, the stakes were high.

Draco continued to hesitate, and Harry was almost asleep, thinking that nothing would happen, when he felt the hand that Draco was still holding tight thrust into Draco’s crotch. Harry’s eye flew wide open and he felt how rock hard Draco was. God, he had almost forgotten that Draco was actually quite big, had almost forgotten how gorgeous Draco’s body really was, but that couldn’t be, that would be burned inside his mind until the day he died, and maybe after. It was just that any interaction with Draco allowed Harry to appreciate him anew.

“Is this what you want?”

“Yes, yes!” Draco cried.

It didn’t take long for Harry himself to harden, and it was good to be fully hard, and fully awake,  high on arousal.

He was on his knees next to Draco in the bed, and he removed his hand from Draco’s crotch, to place both hands behind Draco’s shoulder blades. He straddled Draco carefully, but didn’t put any pressure on him.

“Shh Draco, calm down now. There’s no rush. Let’s kiss, let’s enjoy each other. We can touch each other in other places soon enough.”

“Okay, all right, but, but when we do, that’s, that’s all I want Harry, I only want you to, to touch me there, please, not anything else…”

“Okay Draco, I understand. You’re breathing is very fast, calm down.”

They kissed passionately, tasting each other, and Draco thought that he was enjoying this more than if Harry had touched him straight away. Harry was holding him easily, encapsulating Draco’s body. Draco felt wanted and warm; he usually always felt a little cold. He felt flushed in a wonderful way. He couldn’t believe that Harry really loved him, it was amazing to him. Harry was then stroking his face and holding his head. Harry went up for a breather. He was smiling widely at Draco in the dark. The dark made their experience more intimate. Harry started to kiss, smother and nibble Draco’s neck, and Draco started to make moaning sounds, unable to contain himself.

“Oh,” Draco kept saying, “Oh, oh, Harry, oh.”

“Yes,” Harry whispered back encouragingly between bites, “I love you Draco.”

“I love you too.”

Planting one final kiss on Draco’s swollen lips, Harry went to remove the long sleeved t shirt that Draco was wearing.

“N-no!” Draco panicked, clutching the hem to himself. He had never liked being fully naked during sex, and would especially not want it now, during their first sexual encounter after Harry had… _hurt_ him. As if this wasn’t enough, Draco knew that his body was now more hideous than ever after giving birth to James. It had stretch marks and was loose. It was all misshapen, like a balloon with no air in it. Draco cared less about how unattractive he was these days because things were going well with Harry, therapy was helping and most of all, he had James, but he still loathed his appearance deep down, and pregnancy had not helped the matter. He didn’t want Harry to keep revealing his ugliness, it only made Draco feel insecure in their relationship where he had finally gained some security.

“Ok, ok,” Harry said gently. “I’m sorry, I won’t do that. Can I please remove your trousers? Or, did you want to do that yourself? Remember it’s not too late to change your mind.”

“You do it please,” Draco breathed. He wanted to get this over with now before he lost his errection, and once he did this, hopefully he wouldn’t be so desperately aroused sometimes. Desperately really was the apt word, he now realised that sometimes he was so sexually frustrated that he couldn’t even think straight. Harry carefully removed his trousers, and then his briefs. Shivers ran through Draco.

Bracing himself, Harry took Draco’s cock in his hand, spat on it discreetly for lubrication, and began to pump up and down along Draco’s cock. Draco was moaning so loudly that Harry thought that there was a good chance that James would wake up, but if that happened then it happened; they would stop and try again another night. He didn’t want to discourage Draco by telling him to be quiet, not when he was finally expressing himself sexually. Harry could smell and feel Draco’s pre come lubricating his cock, and this made his own cock throb. He rubbed his thumb across Draco’s slit gently, where it was so wet, and Draco gasped loudly, shuddering.

“Take it easy, Draco.”

Harry kept pumping and pumping Draco, but not in a way that he thought would make him come, so that this rare experience could last longer, and Draco himself was trying to hold onto his orgasm as best as he could for the same reason. The longer it lasted, the longer he wouldn’t need sex again. He wanted it to feel mind shattering.

“Do you want me to take you in my mouth?” Harry asked, and at such a delicious suggestion Draco groaned; his mind was now filled with images of Harry sucking on him and creating that divine sensation where it felt like his very arousal was being sucked out of his body. Being given head was truly glorious, even Draco had to admit this. Now that it was suggested he couldn’t possibly say no.

“Yes, yes,” Draco pleaded, and Harry’s heart leapt at being allowed to do this for Draco. He loved pleasing and proving himself to Draco. He began to suck with his lips along Draco’s shaft, fast, keenly. He remembered this taste! It was the taste of Draco, and it was delicious. He sucked and sucked and as he did so felt the tension winding up inside Draco like a coil about to spring, could sense it in how the rocks of Draco’s hips became smaller and smaller but more tense, as if he were affected by so much sensation that it was agonising to even move. Harry thought of Draco as someone who tried hard to keep quiet during sex, so any sign of engagement from him meant that he was really moved. On a particularly efficient suck near the helmet of Draco’s cock, Draco came with a strangled gasp, and said something that sounded like Harry’s name. Harry had swallowed all of Draco’s come. Draco felt completely spent. Already his mind was beginning to wind down into that familiar post coital state where the body goes limp. God, he didn’t know what to do with all his worries and anxiety, but Harry sure made them feel lighter. It occurred to him that the idea of sleeping in sticky pants and trousers was disgusting, so he whispered sleepily, “I’ll, I’ll just keep my trousers and pants off now Harry, if you don’t mind, I mean, you’ve experienced everything now, so the hardest part’s over, and it’s dark…just if you could, clean me up please?” He hated asking Harry for magic, hated it, magic was what _he_ had been good at, had been _his_ identity, and now he had to ask for it like a vegetable. He always tried to avoid asking Harry for magical help, even if it meant things taking a lot longer and making him a lot more tired, but in some situations like this one, he just had to. This was one of the reasons why he didn’t enjoy becoming so close in this way in the end, because he couldn’t approach Harry as an equal, he had to ask for everything like an invalid. He’d rather have and enjoy nothing than be like this. But he _had_ enjoyed himself. Sex had been divine.

Draco and Harry settled into one of their embraces where they seemed to fit together perfectly, and Draco made sure to angle his genitals away and allow them too cool. That was when he, or, the right side of his body, realised that Harry was still hard.

“Harry I’m so sorry, do you want me to…do something for you? I’m so selfish-”

“That’s all right Draco, sleep,” Harry said in a voice that gave nothing away.

“No please, it’s not fair-”

“Do you want to?”

“Well I, I mean, I don’t know, I’m scared Harry, this is all still new again…”

“Then that’s fine, I understand.” Harry didn’t quite understand. He now felt a bit flat. _Don’t forget that you got to touch him though, to feel him, to please him, that’s worth more than anything,_ Harry thought to himself, and it was, but he felt unloved, and that was the worst feeling of all.

“It’s not that I don’t want to though, I mean I do, I, I think about your body, I think about how you’re mine, I think about you over me, it’s just that I’m scared, I want to take things slowly, we have a lifetime, wait, more than a lifetime together, we have time, I do love you Harry, I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t. I’m scared you’re not understanding that because we’re so different.”

Harry was comforted. Draco knew that sometimes, Harry forgot pain easily. He was a sunny man, and would have been a lot sunnier if he hadn’t had his life experiences. Draco liked his light, liked this quality about him. “Well, I guess that helps. Ok, but don’t talk sexy too much Draco, I mean I am still hard,” He joked.

Draco laughed his soft, happy, musical laugh too. Harry decided that that was the sound that proved the night to be a success. They fell asleep in each other’s arms.

***

Draco realised he was tossing and turning in the bed before coming to himself, fully conscious. His legs were all tangled up with the duvet and a section of the sheet. It was not a pleasant sensation. Farr less pleasant was the fact that he was soaked from the waist down, and that his legs felt irritated from whatever liquid was on them. There was a bad smell in the air. Harry snored next to him in a happier place.

Oh god, oh god, really? _No no no_ , Draco thought to himself. For goodness sake, he didn’t want to be like this! He didn’t want to be so pathetic! It was just one problem after another! He supposed that him…wetting the bed, and he shuddered at the hideous term, was a reaction to the night’s sexual activity with Harry; although he had enjoyed it he had probably needed a way to release his anxiety and tension, and it had taken this very literal form. He had become better at understanding himself since going to therapy. Still, understanding himself didn’t seem to help in situations like this. The moment was one of horrible suspense; not being found out meant everything.

Slowly, slowly, as if inching were a particular skill of his, Draco raised himself expertly out of the bed. All right, now he was free from the bed, and Harry and James (who was a very unpredictable sleeper) were both still unconscious. This moment seemed to represent something to Draco for a second beyond itself; _he_ was the one awake to suffering while the others were free. So they should be. Then he shook his head and concentrated on the present. But how in the world was he going to untangle Harry from the duvet, who was sleeping on it territorially like a lion over a recent kill? He should just try and inch it off him, Draco decided. That was his best bet, however as soon as he had to pull a little more than gently, Harry came awake, uncannily, as if he almost knew that someone wanted him to stay asleep. Draco should have known that that would happen; after all this was Harry Potter, the boy who had been trained to expect attack. Now all Draco could do was clutch the duvet to himself in a last defence.

“Draco? What are you doing? Are you ok? Sorry did you need to go to the bathroom? Go on ahead.”

This was probably Draco’s opportunity to get away if he ever had one, but fear and shame and exhaustion of pretence and denial were too overpowering for him to move.

“Draco?” Harry asked again, more questioning this time.

Draco exhaled. He couldn’t go on holding onto every negative thing alone, although his senses screamed at him to for fear of rejection. Something had to give. He hung his head.

“The duvet is w-w-wet Harry, and, and the sheet.”

“Er, wet?”

“F-f-from, from me.”

There was a pause, they stared at each other, and any pause was too long for Draco.

“It’s fine Draco,” Harry said. He wanted to make sure that Draco knew that he really meant that it was fine. “I don’t mind or care or anything, so please, please don’t worry.” There wasn’t even the smallest part of Harry that held this against Draco, he just didn’t want Draco to freak out about this to the extent that he made himself sick or depressed, and then pushed Harry away. Harry didn’t want them to take one step forwards and another two back. Harry reached for his wand hastily down the side of the bed and spelled the whole bed and bedding, and then Draco, fresh and clean. His spells were so much more effective when he really cared about the results. Everything was now cleaner than it had been originally. Harry had wanted to communicate that Draco need not worry about anything, that everything was perfectly taken care of; instead, whilst being grateful, Draco couldn’t help but feel very belittled at Harry’s effortless display of magic that was something that Draco could only dream about doing. This particular bone of contention was going to be hard, very hard to resolve, but at least Draco was now actually considering the possibility of being able to resolve things, rather than feeling nothing but hopelessness, which eventually lead him to self-destruction. Maybe…maybe he had a little more belief in Harry’s love for him, and maybe, this was making him relax more.

***

Draco was in the kitchen reading the paper. He didn’t read _The Prophet_ or rubbish like that, (he had only recently, in what he referred to as ‘this lifetime’, come to appreciate that it _was_ indisputable rubbish, (strange how some things were only clear to you when they affected you), he was reading _The_ _Wizarding Financial Times._ It wasn’t susceptible to stupid currents of fancy and wasn’t full of irrelevant information. Of course it still on occasion contained the odd picture of a ‘celebrity’ for no apparent reason, (did adults really need their newspapers turned into picture books?) and this made Draco burn with a cold fury. Celebrity culture made imbeciles of wizards and damaged lives. James was in his baby pen, gargling happily. He was such a happy baby. Half of Draco’s mind was always with James.

Harry walked in, yawning, smiling at them, and it could never have escaped Draco’s notice that he was shirtless and sockless. Draco held a soft spot for Harry’s feet, of all things. He could see that his night time incident was not on Harry’s mind, it was not clouding his expression. Harry thinking that what had happened was insignificant didn’t exactly help, it was not as if it made it go away.

“Morning beautiful,” Harry said to Draco casually. Draco blushed, he loved attention from Harry. One day he would perfect appearing to not care when Harry said such things to him. It made him uncomfortable to be dependent on Harry’s affection. “Morning Jamie,” Harry added. He began to root through cupboards. He seemed to enjoy doing this, he had little idiosyncrasies. He wouldn’t have the elves just prepare and bring him breakfast, when Draco had questioned his behaviour Harry had simply looked at him blankly and said, “Well, I’m not a baby.”

Draco always felt an equal mixture of anxiety and excitement when Harry was in a room with him, especially when they were doing separate things, like now. It was like Draco was waiting for something to happen. He felt very self-conscious around Harry. He sighed, put down his newspaper, and rubbed his forehead. The events of the night, and having to get up on two other separate occasioned to feed James, as well as, er, to ‘pump’ and dispose of extra milk (Draco shuddered) seemed to catch up with him all of a sudden. He felt tired.

“You ok?” Harry asked, that sudden, serious frown of concern on his face. He came over behind Draco and hugged him. Maybe this embrace was what Draco had been yearning for subconsciously.

“F-fine, thank you,” Draco said. Harry held him for a few more seconds, seeming to understand his tiredness, and maybe his thoughts floated over the ghost of Draco’s distress in the night, Draco could feel Harry's mind doing so. How, he didn’t know. They carried on with their respective mundanity until James's gargles became mewls which became ear splitting cries. When James cried, it was like an alarm. Harry couldn’t have believed a baby could be so loud until he had one of his own. The sound reverberated in your skull. Maybe it was because of how sensitive they were to him due to how much they cared about him… _Yeah, I’ll go with that._

Draco sighed. He looked over at James with a little hope as if to ask if he was sure, and when James paid him no mind and carried on making that awful sound, red in the face, with screwed up eyes, Draco got up and picked him up, nuzzling his dew-hair to his lips subconsciously.

“I best feed him,” He said.

Harry looked him, his eyes perfectly focussed and his expression too neutral.

“Can I watch?”

Draco immediately felt backed into a corner and under pressure again, perhaps unnecessarily, at there being yet another thing about him, another dimension of his body, that Harry desired to plunder. It amazed him how Harry could always find new things about him to explore, and depressingly often wondered whether it was only a thirst for new things that spurned Harry into being with him. Draco so wished that Harry took his time with the simpler things, enjoying them in themselves, without wanting more, or something drastically unusual and different just for the sake of it. He wished that Harry was slower, God, much slower, and much more…refined. The point was that he didn’t want for his body to feel exotic or unusual or like territory that he didn’t recognise, he desperately wanted the opposite of what Harry was promoting, he wanted it to feel normal. _Well it’s not,_ he thought to himself bitterly. He wished Harry wasn’t a pervert, frankly.

When he had had a chance on a few occasions to muse on his relationship with Harry in some depth, he realised that he always seemed to want to mould Harry into the image of the older, elegant and controlled Slytherin man, whose manners were perfect and who just understood things, who just knew what to do. Of course at first he hadn’t realised he had been doing this; it was just something that he had begun to slowly be conscious of. It was wrong; he shouldn’t want Harry to be anyone other than who he was. He should let the memory of men like Snape go, these were pathetic – just wisps of a fantasy. After all, his father had been everything that he had just described inside his mind, and he was a brutal man, cruel to his core. It was strange that a part of him thought this way, because a great part of him loved Harry, loved his carefree nature, loved his laugh, loved his feet in the morning and his warmth and his embraces and his curious muggle ways. If only he could have what was good about Harry without the bad.

“Er, Draco?” Harry said, the dangerous hunger for sensuality out of his voice as he had become more concerned with Draco absolutely freezing on him, crying baby in arms. God, that even scared Draco. He _should not_ become catatonic when he had a child to look after, what on Earth was the matter with him? It was amazing what a little bit of anxiety and expectation of fear could do to a person.

“Uh, uh, no,” He said with an unconvincing smile, and rushed to a different room. He didn’t pick the first few next to the kitchen, but one right down the hall. Harry sighed. He had made a mistake again. It wasn’t like he had tried to force Draco into anything, he had simply asked, and Draco had said no, which was well within his right to do so. It was just that…fuck, Harry didn’t know. He didn’t mean to intimidate Draco, but Draco was intimidated anyway. What was he supposed to do? He anticipated more cold showers, and more masturbating in the shower. _Fan-fucking-tastic._ It was so sad how suggestion could terrify and paralyse Draco. Draco had been thoroughly trained to fear.

***

Draco was all set to go and visit Fleur. For some reason, there was tension in the air, and everyone felt anxious. Harry felt worried that Draco never went out. It wasn’t healthy. If they had more separate lives, he reckoned they’d enjoy each other’s company more. He wanted Draco to have friends and interests of his own. He hated the idea of him sitting indoors quietly for the rest of his life looking at walls, he deserved to experience life more than that.

He smiled for Draco. “You’ll be fine. Have a good time, they’ll be happy to see you and Jamie.” He cuffed Draco’s shoulder and looked into his beautiful grey eyes that were always moving, like clouds across the sky.

Draco returned his look with hidden doubt. “Y-yes, I’m sure we’ll have…a pleasant visit.” Everything that he did in life felt pathetic. He often wondered the point of taking little steps of progress in the grand scheme of things, but this was a fainter whisper of a question now, and the answer was his son anyway, whom he lived for.

His heart leapt into his mouth suddenly, and he made a final, desperate bid. “Harry, come with me please, please…please. What, what if I get hurt? Like I…like I was before? Please, I couldn’t live through that ever again. What if Jamie is hurt?” Draco couldn’t imagine anything worse.

 _Yes, what if? What if?_ “No,” Harry said finally, to himself and to Draco. “No one’s ever going to hurt you Draco, be confident. If I come I’ll do all the talking and that’s no good. Carve your life your way. It’s only a short distance, The portkey that they've arranged for you is twenty minutes away by foot. Take a bus and it’ll be five minutes. You’re perfectly disguised in muggle London and anyone that hurt you before is dead. Please, I want you to be happy.”

So that was the final word then. Draco was so torn between knowing and wanting that he had to go, and being physically and mentally unable to do it. He felt sickened. He could back out. He would never have to go out, he would never have to be unsafe…the door clicked shut quietly behind him. Harry had his own back to the cold door, and he willed it to cool down his warm, wound up body. He rested his head back on the door, closed his eyes, and exhaled. God, Draco didn’t half take him along with his worries. This was the right thing to do. He wanted to solve their problems. He didn’t want to have this…weird, scaring effect on Draco that he couldn’t fully shake off. Draco interpreted his every suggestion as something he didn’t have a choice in, and it made Harry feel awful. Couldn’t he just say no and be done with it? There was choice for goodness sake! There was always choice! Now that not being together and splitting up wasn’t and option (which it really looked like it was at one point) he just had to work on things and hope they god better.

Harry decided that it wasn’t wrong to enjoy your family being out sometimes. He had an almost scalding shower (that was how he liked them), masturbated during it, and came downstairs in his underpants to watch some rugby. Draco treated Harry walking about in his underpants inappropriate when it was just the two of them and obscene when James was in the room, as if it would have some shocking influence on James. Harry rolled his eyes. Draco was so old fashioned sometimes, such a prude. Of course he made great allowances for what had happened to Draco, but he had had a very conservative upbringing regardless. Although Draco had a fair reason for it, his censoring made Harry feel restricted in his own home. Never mind that, he wouldn’t think about that now. And wouldn’t call Fleur to made sure that Draco had arrived, however twitchy his hands got. They would behave normally. Things would be fine. Rugby was less interesting without a beer in his hand. In the end he decided to get dressed and do some vigorous Quidditch.

***

Draco was well wrapped up against the cold. _Look at all of the normal looking people, going about their days without feeling horrible all of the time._ He stepped out of his square gingerly, and his home began to reduce behind him. There was something that he didn’t like about that very much. He wouldn’t turn around, because that would without doubt compel him to return. He wasn’t going to do that.

James chatted to them both in gibberish. He was a beautiful, podgy baby, with very big, almost comically emotive blue eyes. His chocolate brown hair was straight and glossy, but unfortunately always messy. Draco smiled a small smile. His son’s presence always gave him strength. He would visit his friends for his son, so that James could meet different people. Draco’s reclusiveness didn’t only affect him after all, this he had to remember. The idea that he was somehow limiting his child made him loathe and detest himself.

Draco was at a bus stop that he thought was the right stop. All of muggle London looked the same to him; big, full off opportunity, but slightly crappy around the corners. Oh well, he was starting think of it as _his_ crappy place, which he liked. People of all creeds and colours stood at the stop with him. He didn’t have an issue with them in anyway, never had done in his heart, they just seemed exotic to him because he had mostly only known Caucasian people for most of his life. He wondered whether that realisation was offensive in itself, he wasn’t sure. A lot of busses zoomed past. Everyone and everything seemed to know where it was going apart from him. He often got lost in his mind. He had to pay attention to what he was doing. All right, the bust that he wanted was the C10 to Victoria, where his portkey would be.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS...I never get round to this story, and when I do, it's not edited so it's all over the place! I'm so sorry! And after this chapter, I don't know when I'll be able to post again! I'm trying to write a tonne of other things while working about 40 hours a week :(...ANYWAY HOPE YOU ENJOY, COMMMENT AND STUFF, love ya!

Chapter 13

Wizard portkeys were more often than not placed in muggle areas of great movement. Strictly speaking they could be placed anywhere, but it made sense to place them where there was travelling being done anyway, so that wizards would blend in better, or something like that, rather than being spotted disappearing and appearing in random places. The doors of the bus that he needed opened anonymously, god, everything was so mechanised in the muggle world, and Draco stood in the tall queue of tired people, hopeful, timid, ready to get on.

The bus driver was a sleepy looking Caribbean man with a deep voice. Draco touched the ‘oyster card’ that Harry had given him (what a strange name!) to the cheap looking circular pad like some of the other customers had. He seemed to do that correctly, and felt a moment of pride, before being bustled forward. He cringed and his positivity drained. He didn’t want to be touched by these people. Wait, he should most certainly put that sort of intolerance behind him, and had, it was just that he didn’t want to be touched, period. Teeth chattering, he sat down at the back. James seemed in very high spirits, as if he knew he was going out with Draco for the first time. He was also more confident than Draco due to the innocence of youth, and because he had been out a lot with Harry.

People spoke a lot less on muggle transport, there didn’t seem much comradery between them. It was all very interesting for Draco to observe. There wasn’t much space and the bus was very jolty, the first few jolts had made Draco’s heart leap into his throat and had almost, he loathed to admit, made him pass some urine. _No_ he had immediately demanded of his body as soon as that sensation had come on. That wouldn’t happen to him, not now, he was too strong, and he was unwilling to accept its occurrence. He succeeded; another small triumph. There was some sort of overly clean smell in the air of poisonous bleaches, detergents and plastic fibres. Muggles used a lot of materials that were alien to Draco. He almost repulsed them on an animalistic level, so instinctually. Harry joked that it was the Veela inside him reacting badly.

Harry had tried to give Draco an impression of the complex and contradictory socio-political problems and present of muggle London, England, and the world, and Draco had understood everything that Harry had told him (his mind could grasp such concepts easily and was interested in them) and was dismayed at them; the situation seemed cruel, unjust, ultimately doomed, and familiar.

The grey ghost bus passed through the grey streets, similar shadows got on and off. James talked nonsense assuredly, and Draco nuzzled him gratefully. A woman looked over at them and smiled. James yanked Draco’s shoulder length hair in the way that he liked to, and then waved his bunched fist around as if to say, _look what I’ve got!_

So far their journey had passed without disaster. He was anxious, but he also felt alive for it. He just needed to concentrate, to not become part of the scenery and become too passive as he too often did. He thought that his stop was coming up. Taking a rattled breath and unconsciously tucking his white blonde hair behind his ear, (only for it to fall silkily in a protective curtain in front of his face a moment later) he got up. His legs felt like jelly. Draco got off, turned to mumble thanks, but the bus had trundled down the street. Hm. No matter. Right, now all he needed to do was find London Victoria, the train station. He had been in the area plenty of times with his parents, but never to the muggle part, for obvious reasons. Oh, how debilitating their hatreds had been.

Draco strided through the crowded streets with long legs like a pelican, holding James. It seemed to him that he was the one walking against the crowd. The sun was tiring and pressed him into the ground. He swallowed and realised that he was thirsty. Where was this station? Everywhere looked the same to him. He couldn’t concentrate with this shoal of people constantly streaming past him and in and out of openings. He couldn’t concentrate at all, he was having trouble breathing deeply. Her had one of those moments when he wasn’t sure if his mind were working properly, whether it would ever work again or had now permanently degenerated. He would have to live with this intolerable suffering! If only he could breathe, and focus his eyes. There must be maps around! He couldn’t fail his son whom he was out for in the first place, he couldn’t fail Harry. He consulted an annoyingly small, plasticised map attached to a long metal pole with a light on it and focussed all of his mental energy, whilst making shushing noises for James. _Come now Draco, you possess a brain and intellect, you used to pride yourself on it, you still do in a small place in your heart, now use it._ He stared at the map dumbfounded. It was telling him in lurid yellow that he was at Victoria Station. He hadn’t seen a bright red dustbin lid only visible to him anywhere, and he was accustomed to look in corners for portkeys, being a wizard. He sank to the floor. Part of him wanted to. The other part hated to of course. Again he felt as if he may lose control of his body. _I tried. Get yourself up, fool! What about all of your improvement, do you just want to throw that away? What about your son whom you claim is the very reason you breathe! Alright._ His head was spinning and there was probably a grotesque sheen on his brown, he could feel it. All he had to do was hold onto his son, who sounded fed up. Draco did not blame him.

No one paid him any mind. Why should they? There was a person begging just across from him, another in a cardboard box. He had seen People in dirtied clothes sleeping in expensive office fronts. He had seen a homeless amputee during his journey. Who would help those people? Didn’t they have the potential to be important? Didn’t their lives matter?

Draco covered his face with a shaky hand. He tried to thinking clearly in the dark. He really required a bathroom, possibly to vomit in. he wanted to be back at home with Harry, safe. What was he supposed to do if a map told him he was where he was supposed to be, but he wasn’t there? It was utterly ridiculous. His disdain for the situation gave him some strength. That and knowing that James would need feeding and toileting soon, and that he would under no circumstances neglect his son. Maybe there were two London Victorias, he would ask someone. But who to approach? Who wouldn’t hurt him?

Draco felt the sun blocked from in front of him by a looming figure. He then felt cold to his core, and simply wilted.

“Well well well,” The voice said gruffly. “Up man, your kid’ll need tending. The missus is expecting you.”

It was Bill. Draco hung his head. So, he had failed – failure crashed over him, swam through is veins. Bill helped him up effortlessly.

“I failed.” He didn’t realise he had said this until Bill replied.

“You didn’t fail son, you tried. There’s a big difference. We were lookin’ out for you, this is the coach station, not the train station. Short walk. Can you make it?”

“Y-yes.”

“Pass us your kid.”

“No!”

Bill looked obviously affronted. He was a very clear man.

“I mean, I’m so-so-sorry. Sorry. Y-you, you know how I am, well, I’m sure you’ve heard…” Draco tucked his hair behind his ear, bright red in the face.

Bill nodded. “Alright. Can you walk? Let’s get on. Fleur wanted you to come over way before this.” They started to walk. Draco felt much clearer in company now, if still tired and dazed. He recognised what had just happened for what it was; a moment of panic, a slight breakdown. It seemed silly to him now, and that was good. Bill was a preposterously tall mass of muscle in a long over coat and army boots. He had very pale English skin, and angular and somewhat hollow face, and long blazing red hair, lashes and eye brows. Half of his face was grotesquely deformed, the other, a reflection of his beauty and sadness. He had a gruff, wild manner about him that must have been the poison in his blood. They had an abuser in common that had marked them both that neither wanted to dwell upon. Did it bring them closer?

Draco was growing tired holding James.

“Give us the kid man. I’m not going to do anything to him am I?”

Draco consented with difficulty and a very silly, immediate sense of loss. James seemed happy at being held at a greater height.

“Thanks a lot,” Draco said, and laughed. Bill laughed too.

After carrying on for a few moments in silence Draco asked Bill. “How, how can you stand it? Muggle London I mean?” He hoped this didn’t sound like old wizarding bigotry; that was not how he had intended it.

Bill shrugged. “Gotten used to it. Used to hate it. It’s become a strange comfort.” At Draco’s daunted expression he laughed. Oh, it was good to have friends! Draco thought with relief and happiness. It was good to be shown help and mercy, Draco never expected, never thought he would see it again. He thought that he had Bill ought to get out of the sun quickly before both of them burnt to a crisp. James’ skin tone would probably handle the sun better.

“We’re here.” The grim industrial visage of Victoria train station greeted them in the heat. They found their portkey and were transported.

***

 When you were weak and your stomach was empty, like Draco was, travel by portkey really made you feel nauseated. He tried to ignore the sensation. James seemed momentarily dizzy but quickly recovered. Bill was gruff but reassuring, a strange man…he seemed to not even waste a second of his existence on pretences or social graces. Bill said what he felt. To him this was the best way of dealing with the world. Bill steadied Draco with his arm, and that was when Draco looked around to see where they were.

They were on some deserted beach, it was sunny, but a cool breeze blew about, slightly disturbing the sand. Draco couldn’t see any people, and only a rickety, white wood house in the distance. The sea looked full and beautiful, sort of inviting. To their right was scattered, swaying grass, and further on, chalk cliffs.

“How’s Harry keeping?”

“W-well, thank you.”

“And your scamp?” Bill looked at James with kind, bemused, and almost intrigued eyes. One didn’t realise how tired and serious his eyes were until his expression changed when he looked at James.

Fleur greeted them on the white washed porch that creeked as Bill stood on it. She was obviously pregnant, but didn’t look heavily so. Draco was surprised, and he knew that this surprise showed on his face. Luna smiled at his acknowledgement, measuring his reaction.

“Five months gone,” Bill kissed Fleur roughly on the cheek, and Fleur bent and returned to form perfectly to receive his kiss, like someone trained in martial arts, or a skyscraper in China built to withstand earthquakes. Bill was ridiculously tall, and also muscular, though not in a muscular way, but not in a very lean way like Harry either.

“I’ll join you for food later,” Bill waved at them, making his way down to a dark basement. Fleur nodded. The house was of course bigger on the inside, but still a small house by Draco’s standards. It seemed a perfect clash between Bill and Fluer; cluttered, patched together, quant, but also with art, and thought and thin wooden French furniture. It was also seasidey. It had a sombre air, but also that of a sanctuary.

“It’s good to see you,” Luna said when they were sat at the kitchen table. She hadn’t presumed to embrace him, which Draco had appreciated. That sort of thing was what Draco appreciated about her. James was sat in a highchair and had been handed some old fashioned toy that he seemed happy enough with, Draco assumed that it had either belonged to Bill or to Fleur. Fleur’s face was animated when she looked at James.

“May I?” She asked, a little wistfully, a little bashfully, not in her usually aloof way. Draco felt very humbled by kindness to have been received by them in this way.

“Go ahead,” He smiled.

Fleur picked James up like a young girl treasuring a favourite doll, and cuddled him and cooed and him and rocked him. Of course James loved it. Draco laughed and rolled his eyes.

Draco still felt painfully awkward in the presence of others, and as he made himself small and hunched over his tea, he wondered if he should be talking, and if so, what he should be saying. He was very boring, his personality had been washed out by…everything, and even before that, he was only just pretending. He wondered if he would get invited back or if they would only wonder how strange he was.

“So, what is new with you and Harry?” Fleur said with glittering, devious eyes after finally putting James down. James looked put out, and started bashing his fists on the table.

“Oh you know, the same as ususal.” Draco smiled. Fluer noted how he always had a barely hopeful expression on his face, as if he dared not hope that he had said the right thing, but hoped that he had anyway. He seemed like he just wanted to please others, and had no care for himself. God, what had happened to this man? She knew. She knew too well.

“The usual being…?” Fleur carried on. She had to overlook Draco’s flaws, and inject a lot of personality and reassurance into what she was saying. After all she needed a friend for reasons she didn’t really want to think about as well, and she had just known that she and Draco would get along.

Should Draco confide? He found it terribly difficult and stressful when he had to have concersations that required him to make choices about what to reveal and not reveal, conversations that were personal and asked personality of him. He didn’t know, he didn’t feel like he had a right to like anything. He just wanted to say the right thing.

Draco cleared his throat. “Well, the, the usual being that we have, have, have…” He took a breath and continued, “Have the same problems, I, I suppose, well, some of the worst have gone…but we work through them I suppose, with, with help and er…and I’m thinking more clearly, and about the future, and we have James.”

“Oh, that all sounds good I think! See Draco? Good things.”

“Oh, and we’ve been talking about, about, getting married.”

“Getting married?!”

“Y-y-yes? Is that ok?”

“Draco, it’s wonderful! Tell me everything, who asked who?”

“Well I suppose…” Draco considered. “Hm, well I suppose I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?!”

Draco couldn’t help but smile at her flamboyant French expression. She was so cool and reserved when she wanted to be, and the definite opposite at other times.

“Well I suppose I said that I wanted to be married and then he said that he would be married.”

“So you asked! My Draco! This is good!” Fleur seemed to come alive, and enjoy Draco’s pleasure as her own. Was it dull living out here then? Was it limited? Draco though that there may be something missing about it, something about their house felt sadly like a mausoleum, and he didn’t want that for his friend.

“No one asked. I perhaps instigated.”

“Hmm, well have you planned anything?”

“P-planned? No, no, it’s all very rough, I mean, no, we haven’t.”

“Let us plan now! I am sure that you have good taste Draco, yes? Very good.”

Draco suddenly felt unsure, and against the idea. He didn’t want to do anything without Harry’s consent or permission, he didn’t want to upset Harry or take this away from him. Besides he was unsure, the concept of proceeding with something with his own initiative seemed strange in his mind; he just didn’t know how to go about it.

“No, no, I mean, no, if that’s alright I, I don’t want to upset Harry…afterall…”

Fluer rolled her eyes.

“Uspet smuspet. Harry is…how do I put it? A wonderful man, but you know, I know his type, in this matter, I am sure, he is more than willing for you to organise all. All he must to is turn up in a suit, not to scruffy we hope, and declare his love.”

Draco wasn’t sure whether to be affronted, not that he would express affront in a million years. Harry was not an idiot; far from it.

“Well he actually, actually has quite good, I mean interesting, I mean varied tastes…he likes things…”

“Oh! You misunderstand. Harry is a genius of the first variety. And those people, their minds are horribly lacking in some ways. They are like a child, bright, fevered, preposterously impractical. Do this thing.” Fleur also wanted the enjoyment of organising this, nowadays her contact with the outside world was less and less and she was starting to feel…depressed.

“No, I’m, I’m very sorry…” Draco mumbled, shrinking back in his chair. Oh dear, he hoped that he wasn’t offending her. So much for his friendship.

“We will organise on a hypothetical basis! Harry can add and change with you later, yes?”

Draco thought.

“Please?”

He couldn’t really turn anyone down. And they had to talk about something while they were here. And the wedding really ought to be organised. And it may be slightly enjoyable…

So that was what they did until the bright, sleepy, remote sun set, they planned and planned and held James at different times. They both came to life more and more. Draco had outlined a taste that Fleur perfectly supported, natural, muted, silver – with white flowers and plenty of space. Draco’s favourite flowers were now lilies, due to his…tattoo, for want of a better word, and because they were Harry’s. He wanted a lot of them, but also not an overwhelming quantity. He wanted to be able to discern their scent at all times. He wanted…what did he want? He wanted roots to grown into chairs and into arch ways and into and around tables.

When the sun set, there was a feeling of there being another lost day. Draco didn’t really feel any reason to be depressed other than the ususal, if anything he was slightly more happy that usual, but something that was bothering Fleur was contagious to his sensitive, melancholy receptors, and he felt nervous and guilty regarding enjoyment anyway, as if something bad would surely follow it. As the sun sank, so did their hearts.

Fleur tried to pretend that it was not clouding her expression, and poured more tea. Draco really did possess a celestial, unbelievable beauty, neither particularly masculine or feminine, even though he was clearly a man. Saying that he was angelic seemed clichéd, but he was. He was just so lovely, so fragile, one wanted to sweep him up and squeeze him and keep experiencing him to assure oneself that he was real. His lips were so frightfully red and juicy, he was so precious. His being was almost criminal, attraction to his body or person seemed naughty, and for that, yet again all the more enticing. Fluer was certain that this must be how Harry felt all of the time. As for herself, she was wholly, irreversibly and inconsolably in love will Bill, and would be until death released her. The phone ringing maniacclly shocking them both back to life.

“Goodness!” Draco squeeked.

Fleur sprang up immediately like a snake and answered.

“Hello Harry,” She purred, as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “Draco? James?” She said innocently, “Why, they are perfect! We have had quite the wonderful time, we forgot all about you,” Draco winced at this, blustered, well that simply wasn’t true, he would tell Harry later, “You are glad they are safe and well? Well that is good news,” Fleur winked at Draco, smirking, “We have been planning your wedding, it was most certainly time. Oh, Bill will, how do you put it? ‘Whizz’ them back. They will catch the ‘Knight bus’. Very well, no don’t apologise for your call, we know you worry,” Draco’s heart warmed a little, again Harry had made him feel special, “Ok, ok, ok, yes yes, get on with it, good bye.”

Draco was looking at Fleur with wide, expectant eyes. How big his eyes could get, and what a beautiful, unusual shape they were!

Fleur wanted to hold James again, and this time when silence fell, Draco allowed himself to feel slightly relaxed.

“Is there anything else in particular that he would like to eat?”

“Um, um, James likes Jam. That’s one of his favourites, like me.”

Fleur grinned. “It just so happens that I make my own. Very well, jam.” She hummed a tune while opening and closing cupboards like a ballerina, holding a very pleased looking James with one arm. Draco was so please that his son was loved and appreciated, that he didn’t feel under pressure and threatened all the time like Draco had all the way through his own childhood.

“May…may-” Draco could feel his words getting stuck again and so took a deep breath. “May I have another cup of tea? If that’s alright? It’s awfully nice…”

“Certainly.”

There was a big crash from downstairs, and the whole house seemed to shudder. It frightened Draco, of course it did, and he didn’t like sudden movements and sound anyway, but for some reason, he felt that this house was safe, which was unusual to him. He hadn’t quite cottoned on, there didn’t seem to be anything untoward going on to him…besides, in one sense (of course the opposite of one sense could mutually exist with the other, this was what one had to remember) Draco’s mind was innocent. It was as if everything that had happened to him had blasted it into some sort of innocence where his mind was blank; he had no idea what would happen, he was just waiting to see. It was because his mind had been wiped into a clean slate.

Fleur however had frozen, and perhaps how she had begun a process of fading where she had come to life. She sighed deeply.

“What was…? What? I mean, I’m sorry to ask, what was that?”

Fleur’s voice was dead, her back turned to Draco. “As you may know, Bill was ravaged by Fenrir.” That name! Draco shrank in horror at the reverberation of the name of the man that had mutilated and desecrated his body, that had committed unspeakable acts of inhumanity against him. Now they had both lost their sense of lightness. It was amazing how fragile humans were to Draco, how quickly they could become unhappy and affected, and in the face of this weakness, what was the point in continuing?

“He was poisoned, but not directly through a clean, classic bite, as it is known. Therefore he possesses the symptoms of a werewolf without fully turning into one. He is in a constant state of frustration and discomfort. On a full moon he is on the brink of turning without being able to, he can never experience the release of turning into one and the full return to humanity having fulfilled another transformation. He possesses a dual nature. He told me that he longs to become the wolf, what everyone hates and would never wish to be. How much must he suffer to wish this upon himself?” Fleur covered her face with her free hand, choked. “I believe he is looking into this matter…and he knows that I know…and this knowledge…this silence…”

“Why…?”Draco began, aghast. How could such people, no creatures, do this to the lives of others? How could they ruin them so? How could they bring themselves to such cruelty?

“Why am I with him? Why do I stay?” Fleur whirled round. “Because I am irreversibly and irrevocably in love with him. Bill was the only one to receive me kindly, to see beyond my blood’s allure and body, who treated me as an equal and kept his own head. He is a very shrewd man. It is what makes him such a good banker,” She laughed without humour. It was an unpleasant sound.

“No, no, I apologise, that’s not what I meant to ask, why, Fleur, why am I not in the same state?”

They both felt keenly uncomfortable at the allusion to Draco’s own suffering. Fleur could feel the heat in her face. There were simply no words to comfort against such repeated experiences.

“Well, let us think of the wizard genome as the blank canvas if you will. Any modification or furthering is an addition to this existing genome, and once one furthers it in one way you cannot go back or make another addition. As someone who possesses strong Veela blood, your blood could not then also become werewolf blood. So there’s Veela, werewolf, vampire, mermaid, giant, you see what I mean. Some argue that being something such as, say parseltongue or the rumoured, ancient and now quite deceased dragon born is also a modification, but studies show that it is not a full modification, more partial, or if it’s easier to think of it in this way, a half modification.” Fleur was glad to get away from the subject of what Draco had been through. Her instincts were very normal and understandable; she simply did not know how to console the issue, or if it could be consoled.

“Anyway, it is late, and Harry is worried about you, and probably lonely. When you spend all of your time with a person even a day apart can feel like an uncomfortable, alien stretch. Now that you know where we are you can come more often.”

Draco inclined his head and drained his tea. His felt slightly dizzy and his back hurt. He knew that Fleur was asking him to return, and not just for his own sake or for pleasantry.

“By the way…I do not mean that he mistreats me in anyway, he has never raised a hand, has never forced himself upon me, he only suffers in himself, gnaws at himself, screams at himself. I often wish I could bear some of it for him, if anything.”

“I understand,” Draco kept nodding. He couldn’t say the same about Harry. He gulped, saddened and took James in his arms as an immediate comfort.

“I’ll call Bill up,” Fleur said, head down, wiping her eyes. She more or less fled from Draco and her revelations.

“Sorry about my banging Draco,” Bill muttered sourly as he came up. Draco shrank back, shushing James. He wondered if Bill had been told off by Fleur, and understood in an unspoken way that Fleur would not come up again now. Perhaps she was downstairs destroying some of Bill’s research into how to become a full werewolf.

Bill and Draco walked silently up the now cold beach onto higher and higher ground. They walked up steps and levels built into the cliffs and approached a lonely pavement where they called the Knight Bus. Boarding this bus reminded Draco so keenly of that fateful day when Harry had been so…Harry and had simply decided to up and invite Draco to his to live. How different Draco had been then, how different everything had been. Did he think he’d ever board the bus again, this time in a relationship with the man that he had always wanted to be with? With a son with friends? It was astounding.

“Draco,” Bill prompted firmly, and Draco unfroze and they took a small table near the back. Bill folded his huge form onto the small metal chair well. The inside on the Knight Bus was done up like an eclectic café. Draco thought about how Luna would like it.

After about twenty minutes, Bill cleared his throat.

“I know what Fleur told you. I wanted to tell you something more that she didn’t mention. I though that it might be important to you. Hell, if I tell you and it’s not and it’s actually insulting, I’m sorry. What happened to you…and you know what I mean…the same thing happened with me and Fenrir. He likes young boys of a certain appearance.” Bills mouth trembled terribly and Draco felt so sad for him. Is this how people regarded him. With pity? Bill was working his hands on the table.

“And I don’t want your pity,” He snapped gruffly.

“Once is enough.” Draco said. They understood each other. Bill nodded. So that was why he never really physically approached anyone, Draco thought. He didn’t want to impose, didn’t want to make others suffer as he had. So many lives had been touched with poison because of Fenrir, and this was only out of people that Draco knew. How many countless others were there?

“Life goes on, despite it all. It drags you through it, if only you agree to stay alive. And it seems that we have both agreed. People have children,” Draco said. He surprised himself, and even Bill looked surprised.

“Yes,” He nodded in full agreement. The bus groaned very loudly to a stop. _They should get the bloody thing fixed_! Bill thought.

“Grimmauld Stop!” the conductor called shrilly.

“I won’t get off,” Bill said, “Call her when you get in will you? Good seeing you mate.” Bill cuffed Draco on the shoulder and Draco wavered, and he ruffled James’s hair. “I’ll be seeing you little man,” He smiled, and his smile was handsome; the last of the joy of his youth was animated by it.

Draco nodded, smiled gratefully, and hurried off. He wished he could have shown more how much they meant to them, how precious he thought having even a few friends in this cruel, cold world meant.

At Bill and Fleur’s house Fleur had sunk to the floor with her back against the basement door on the inside, crying now as she did when she had to lock Bill in there at both their agreement, with each of them on their own side listening to the other breathe, sobbing, in pain.

***

“Harry?” Draco said cautiously as he opened the door, peering in. It was strange and...and nice to have a door key to his own house. It made him feel like a human being.

“Hey!” Harry called from the kitchen.

James was asleep in Draco’s arms. It was dark outside.

As soon as they were together Harry took Draco in his arms fully and held him. Draco was comforted by this familiarity, he breathed in Harry’s unique scent.

“Careful Harry…James…” James stirred between them.

“I’ll put him to bed, I want to spend some time with him.”

Draco nodded, and Harry took James.

“I miss you, even when you go out for a little bit,” Harry laughed. “I think it’s good though.”

“Yes.”

They sat down at the table, and Draco proceeded to tell Harry everything about his day; the good and the bad.

“Wow,” Harry said, eye brows raised, leaning back from the table. He sighed. “Everyone has problems.”

“They love each other,” Draco whispered.

“Yes,” Harry said significantly, looking into Draco’s eyes. Draco blushed beautifully and averted his gaze downwards, which only highlighted his fan-like eyelashes.

That night Draco felt more comfortable than he had in a long white, and tired in a good way. He also felt the familiar, inconvenient arousal pooling in his abdomen again. He groaned. They would be sleeping in his bed again; that was where he felt most comfortable. Intimacy, coupled with being in Harry’s domain surrounded by Harry’s things was often a bit too much for Draco, and he thought that Harry knew this and was saddened by it. He climbed gingery into his bed. Harry was already there, shirtless, for the love of god, reading a sport magazine, his glasses almost sliding down his nose. He caught it in time subconsciously, like lightning. Draco gulped. He would try not to concentrate on Harry’s chest, he could have sworn that sometimes Harry deliberately liked to provoke him. What was really the case was that Harry enjoyed being in less clothes around Draco, it incrementally satisfied his desire for sex with Draco. Nudity was nice around the one you loved.

“Do you wear long johns?” Harry asked absently, not looking at Draco.

“Y-yes?”

“Oh.” Draco looked fucking fuckable in them – they were so slim and threadbare. He wore them with socks that showed how slender and shapely his feet were, and even the thought of removing one sock of his was enticing.

“They’re so old fashioned,” Harry said after a minute.

“Oh.” Draco sounded disappointed.

“No I like them, keep them on,” Harry said, suddenly throwing his magazine aside and giving Draco all of his attention. “I want something else tonight, if that’s ok with you. Feel free to say no or suggest something else or anything like that, that always stands. But tonight, if its ok with you as I say, I am concerned with your chest…”

Draco leaned back, bewildered, eyes wide, and Harry leaned in, a predator. “May I?”

Draco thought of his own arousal, his mad love for Harry, his desire to touch and care and be cared for…

“Draco?”

Draco nodded.

Harry smiled as if he had been granted the world. He removed Draco’s shirt and ran his hands slowly and deliberately all over Draco’s body, whilst maintaining eye contact with Draco with lustful, lidded eyes, so that he could witness and appreciate all of Draco’s pleasure, and so that Draco knew he was witnessing his pleasure. He massaged Draco’s shoulders for a few moments, and Draco groaned from somewhere deep inside of him, his eyes were seduced into closing.

“Eyes open please,” Harry said.

Draco obeyed.

“If you want me to stop at any point, let me know.”

Draco nodded, taking in a ragged breath. Harry wondered if he was experiencing too much again, going into overload, but no, he decided that Draco was fine for now. He placed his hands flat, palm down, over Draco’s swollen, unusual nipples, and just held them there, firmly and almost reassuringly, looking at Draco. Draco looked back at him, eyes completely wild, unsure of what to do. Another reason why Harry looked at him so was so that Draco was a part of this, so that he didn’t hide, didn’t become passive, didn’t go away. That was so damaging for him, and Harry didn’t want to just fuck a vessel or a body like those who had hurt Draco had, he wanted all of Draco – that made Draco’s body even richer. He valued all of Draco.

Draco’s nipples were strange. They weren’t breasts, heaven no, they would have found that both too unusual and Harry didn’t think he would have been attracted to them in the context of Draco’s body (but you never knew, he liked everything else about Draco). It’s just that they were bigger now, and Harry liked this, it was as if they were oncontainable, there was something mischevious about them. They were slightly swollen, like welts or bites. Oh, how Harry would love to bite them…

At this thought Harry’s head snapped down, and he took Draco’s nipple into his mouth. Draco moaned shrilly in wild ecstasy, he was all feeling now. And then Harry began to suck, and he sucked the milk out of Draco’s body. Draco tasted sweet and bitter at the same time, he tasted like Draco. He tasted musky and rich. Harry carried on sucking and occasionally nibbling on Draco, running his teeth over Draco’s nipple lightly. Draco spasmed, what was happening was almost painful, but felt so wonderful, he felt like he was having some true moment of reckoning where he could feel so many things, when his mind felt alive and sharp, when everything seemed aligned and that he knew the world was beautiful. If only everything could always seem so grand and so perfect. At this thought melancholy crept in, and the imperfect nature of man was apparent to him…

Harry supped on Draco, and only let go when his jaw actually cramped up; he had continued well through it aching. He thought Draco’s nipples looked sore and there were little dots around them, the sort you get around love bites. He immediately felt so guilty. His intention never was to hurt Draco. Right now, they both needed some sexual relief.

Harry felt crudely and honestly into Draco’s trousers, they were both too desperate to do things with pleasantries and properly now. “Draco? This ok?” He panted.

Draco nodded frantically. Harry thrust his fingers inside Draco, and felt how silky, warm and very wet Draco was. He confidently pumped inside Draco, occasionally playing with his clit until Draco came with a cry and his body went limp, spent.

“Draco.”

Draco knew what Harry wanted, and frankly, what he also wanted to do right now. He fumbled into position, and feeling very self-conscious and inadequate for the task, as well as sleepy, _no, don’t fall asleep!_ Took Harry into his mouth. Harry grunted. Draco willed himself to widen his mouth, and his throat, to relax, and swallowed Harry’s huge length.

“Ugggghhhhh!” Harry moaned. He grabbed the hair on the back of Draco’s hair. Draco sucked, and sucked, and sucked, sucked until he thought he was doing a good job, sucked until he thought he could keep this up for a while. He was on a ride, and he wanted more of Harry, wanted to hold him here, wanted to own and possess him through this act, to show what he was made of. This was the first time that he had felt dominant and lustful like this! He could have laughed with the sense of freedom it brought!”

Then he was rewarded by Harry’s come. He swallowed that too, keeping something of Harry. Harry was his, as subordinate to him, in this moment if not consistently, as he was to Harry.

“Fucking hell Draco,” Harry said shakily. Was he trembling? Draco felt concerned suddenly. His usual level head was back. Of course, he knew not to excite Harry too much, he chided himself. “You’re something else,” Harry continued.

“Are you alright Harry? I’m so sorry if that was too much…” He felt absolutely crushed at making anyone experience anything sexually that they were unsure of or shaken by, even if accidentally.

“It was perfect!” Harry laughed, and pulled Draco up into his arms. Draco smiled. How often they broke apart into a million pieces and came together again. They fell asleep then, and had sex once more again in the night – just quick quiet need in the night – and unbeknown to them the required components in their bodies crafted a gift for their family.

***

Life carried on as what could be called normal for them. Draco went out occasionally, and then more often with James, and through hard work and strain and companionship improved by increments. It took immense toil. Painfully shy, reserved, hesitant and polite to a fault he would always be, but he now realised that his flaws did not mean that he couldn’t improve in small ways.

Harry was in his prime, and he felt that he would look back at this time as the best in his life. He had the love of his life, a beautiful son and all the money and power in the world, or so it seemed. The last two he had never asked for and wouldn’t be unnaturally pained to part with. It seemed a fickle rich man thing to say, but money didn’t mean much if you didn’t have anyone to enjoy it with. Growing up he had wished that he was like Ron, and for some strange reason, Ron had wished that he were like Harry. Weird. That’s what Harry’s life had been all over before he had started his relationship with Draco; glamorous on the outside, but more often than not hollow on the inside.

Harry had plenty of modelling contracts, from watches to brooms and colognes. He worried about being a douche and a phoney, but because of his family he was light-hearted and willing to go along with it all, because he had been so isolated before and because he liked actively making money now as he had people to support (not that he didn’t have more than enough to support them anyway). Together, he and Draco crafted an agreed way of dealing with public life that they were both comfortable with. Harry did interviews here and there, but he never overexerted himself or gave away too much of himself. He made sure that the topics that he didn’t want discussed were agreed upon before any interview, and made sure that whoever was using him also had to contribute generously to a charity. A cut throat goblin lawyer that he had hired on Bill’s recommendation helped.

Harry had also written a theory book, a work of critical analysis. Essentially its argument concerned man’s nature, and how he should break out of cyclical behaviour in order to progress. He had written it on a whim, it was a culmination of everything that irritated him politically. He had thought that the book would be worthless because surely his stance had been committed to paper many times before? In a sense it had, but not as completely and with further arguments as Harry had set it out. Harry was proclaimed some sort of literary genius, and in an odd way he also looked the part. Draco had been caught off guard by Harry’s success, but not really surprised. Harry had moments that were brighter than anyone’s best. Half of the proceeds of the books went to supporting war victims rehabilitate their lives. Publicity was drawn to this cause because of Harry.

Days came when it seemed to Draco that he became as sicker physically as he improved mentally and emotionally. The days went quickly, sometimes he was confused and seemed to suddenly come back to himself after dozing off to a strange place of nonexistence, and he was always exhausted. He lost weight dramatically, and again Harry was familiarised with that death like emaciation that he had never wanted to imagine in his mind again, let alone see in reality. He had been so sure that he never would, that they would never have to suffer in that way. He hated it when security was proved to be temporary like that.

“Draco what’s going on?” Harry pleaded with him one morning, frightened. Not a lot frightened Harry, but anyone felt helpless when they didn’t know how to help a loved one, and they felt that there may even be the slightest possibility of losing them after so much had been gained, and all sorts of possibilities were running through their mind…

Draco shrugged. It actually hurt his bones to do so. His eyeballs felt sunken, as if they were right in the back of his skull. He beheld the dull ceiling with interest. There was power in this, in caring so little, in being in such an awful state. Still, Harry moved him, he seemed in so much pain, o desperate…Draco wanted to help him, wanted to love him…

“Harry…” He rasped. He had wanted to say something like how it would be alright, but this was such a blatant lie that he couldn’t bring it to his mouth, and didn’t have the energy for it anyway. The most painful thought of all for Draco was James. He loved James more than life, more than anything that he knew to exist, more than his conception of anything. But should he go he knew that James had another father that felt the same way about Draco, and could give him anything. Therefore, it was only for himself that Draco wept, bitterly, and selfishly so, because he enjoyed James so very much.

Of course Harry had called Pomfrey before this point, and she had run every sort of test, twice, to no avail. Harry had raged at her and she had raged back.

“Why isn’t the elixhir working?!” Harry had asked.

“It doesn’t work like that, it doesn’t stop you from being sick, it only keeps your heart beating. It is an evil thing Potter, it was a thing made to be regretted, like a love potion. One must pay a price for using such a thing. For example, if you were blasted into a million pieces, one mangled piece would still be alive and conscious. How is that mercy Potter?”

“Oh God, why didn’t we think of this before?”

“It’s probably what’s keeping him alive now. You may have lost him long before, that’s logically plausible, who knows.”

Harry put his head in his hands, tore at his hair. “I can’t keep going through this…” He had cried. He wept.

“Potter, perhaps a different approach would help. An acceptance of the situation does no equate with resignation.”

Harry had groaned.

Now, today, Pomfrey was due again. The last time she had been here, only yesterday, she had run some very extensive tests that required taking blood at set times and combining them with other ingredients immediately. She said that she would cross reference all of the tests and return. Harry waited a few more agonising hours, just holding Draco, just smelling his thinned hair, comforting which of them, he didn’t know. He was holding Draco and thinking, _he is here now, in my arms, physically, real, how can that be taken away? It can’t be, it doesn’t seem possible, it won’t be, as long as I keep holidng on, oh God,_ Harry blinked his eyes angrily, and the doorbell rang. Anytime would have been too late. 

Harry raced downstairs, almost slipping in his socks, and opened the door. He wanted the news there and then, and he was sure that it showed in every part of his appearance, but no, she came in, they proceeded to the kitchen. Fluer had been watching James for about a week now, since Draco had taken a really bad turn. They both knew that he was safe there.

“Well?” Harry said before they were barely in the kitchen.

“Potter…”

“Yes? Yes? For the love of god what? Tell me, please!”

“Mr Malfoy is pregnant again. His body…well, the womb is and isn’t in wizard space, it would be difficult to explain to you in a way that would make you understand, his brain does not understand what is happening and it is causing a conflict with his body. Male wizards were not constructed by nature to bear children Potter, and the technology of this potion, its magic…it was formed long ago in a much more imperfect time, where less was known about science, magic, and the world in general-”

“He’s dying,” Harry ghasped. Why was he in this state of desperation again? Damn everything if he couldn’t have the man that he loved. “How do we treat him?”

“I have absolutely no idea. There is no proven cure, obviously. This is a unique case. My best and only bet would be to shock his body. Obviously this would endanger his life and the child’s. As he is dying, I would say that it was our only option.”

“But..but…” It was hard to understand things in the midst of so much pain and need. The kitchen was too hot for Harry. Draco was upstairs all alone by himself, breathing his shallow breaths. “But isn’t he supposed to stay alive, regardless of anything?”

“Well, yes, but he may stay alive and never open his eyes again and have a child rotting inside him, that is to say, be as good as dead.”

Harry sank into a chair. “I, I have no option, I, yes. Well, we have to take the only treatment available. When, when are we doing this?”

“Right now Potter. I’m going to go to the office to get equipment and personnel. I will return in  an hour.”

“So soon? I, I don’t have time to accept or process what’s going on, I mean, are we doing the right thing?”

“Potter, please. Let me do the job you’ve hired me to do. See you soon.” Pomfrey would have never admitted that she was as emotionally attached to these clients as she was. Perhaps it was something to do with knowing them from their boyhood, or seeing their son for check-ups and remembering how she had delivered him.

Harry shook his head, but the cloud of confusion surrounding it did not disperse. If he sat here he would just stare at walls and become depressed. He got up to call all the friends that he could in one hour, to inform them of what was happening, one by one, as they had requested. Life. Fuck it. It didn’t get any easier.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this has been A LONG time coming. I hope the story's still got 'it'. Also, so sorry about the typos and if it generally doesn't make sense...I had two hours of disturbed sleep last night and couldn't read it over. Enjoy :D X

Chapter 14

Pomfrey returned with what seemed like a whole hospital’s worth of unpleasant, sharp looking equipment, sinister concoctions and a host of morose helpers in white robes. Perhaps Harry could recognise a few of them from the first birth. Perhaps his brain just wasn’t working properly. He didn’t care.

Harry stood back, bile rising in his throat. Today, like many days recently, James was with Hermione and Ron. Draco hadn’t wanted him to spend so much time there at all, he wanted to be close to James, wanted James to be with his family, but he had been too weak to argue, and had unfortunately lived to see that when too weak, one could not express their case effectively. He hated letting James down. Draco had become Harry’s sole focus, and since Harry wasn’t a good multitasker and became hell bent on one thing, he had allowed James to stay with friends.

Harry pressed himself into the wall, until it was like he was watching what was happening on a screen; the worst scene from a personalised horror film.

Damn it, Harry was making Pomfrey tense, like he always did. She didn’t need sensations like that while she was trying to work. Sher set up her equipment like Dr Frankenstein, and began to magic electricity into the large glass bell her helpers were levitating over Draco. Was the glass starting to shake? Yes! It was starting to quiver, and then positively tremble, and there was a low, tinny humming sound, a bit like angry bees getting angrier. Harry couldn’t quite comprehend what was going on, but now he observed that Pomfrey’s helpers were having a hard time keeping the building blue-white bolts of electricity contained within the glass bell, and the bell levitated. Concentrating on them was a lot easier than concentrating on the poor love of his life lying feebly in his cooling sweat and thin night shirt on the bed. Oh, Harry had so much love for him. He mustn’t only appreciate him seemingly in full when he was about to lose him. Even lying there he was perfect and beautiful and a comfort to look at. Harry would concentrate on his beauty…he would…and not Draco’s dwindling health. If only he kept eyes on Draco, nothing would happen to him…

“Of course there is a chance that the instrument will shatter,” Pomfrey muttered. Who the hell was she talking to? Herself?

“What the fuck?!” Harry shouted.

But no one replied, as if he wasn’t in the room, (he _hated_ that), and there was almost a low level roar coming from that curious, damn bell, and before it happened Harry knew what they intended to do with it all: the bell, the electricity, it being placed above Draco, and he cried out, hands reaching in vain, remembering everyone he’d every loved dying in a flash of light again and again with him again being powerless to stop it all and save them, and he lost himself, and Pomfrey screamed, “NOW!” And they all directed their wands downwards onto Draco. The electricity powered horrifically through him, and he shook violently like a ragdoll up off the bed with a power so disproportionate to him.

After too long, his body lay limp. The bell changed state in a burst and became liquid, spraying them with hot water. And they waited, the healers and Pomfrey, not daring to even breathe. They can’t have gone through that all for nothing…

What was that on Draco’s body suddenly?

“By Merlin! There it is!”

And yes, it had appeared, although it didn’t seem to appear, it didn’t just pop out like some trick, the bump was just there now. Draco looked pregnant, as if he always had, even though they knew that that was not how he had looked a moment before.

“And he’s breathing,” Harry said weakly. Yes, they could see that Draco’s chest was laboriously rising and falling.

***

Four months on, Harry had created for Draco a beautiful wheelchair, it was all spindly and silver with thoughtful detailing. Draco was too dull and didn’t have the energy to assume how Harry had come by it, but he no doubt imagined it was from some extraordinary magical flourish. Draco had spent a little over the first month of his trimester bedbound, but now he ventured to get up, or be got up, mostly by the elves, which was what he preferred, but equally also by Harry, which he enjoyed for the contact, intimacy and feeling of being cared for, and loathed for the humiliation…a thought occurred to Draco, could his relationship with Harry exist without subordination? So much of what was pleasant and enticing about their love was also, or was at least woven into, what kept Draco down to an extent. Did he like it on some level, maybe unconsciously? Then it was his fault.

Everything was his fault. But their relationship was also what kept him alive, Draco thought. Harry was his light – what he drew energy for life from.

He was always sleepy and weak, and his thoughts were slow and thick in his head. His whole mind felt fuzzy from the various safeguarding potions he took for himself and the child he carried, which was good, very good. When he wasn’t so slow, the overpowering sense of sickness made him so physically uncomfortable that he literally felt as if he couldn’t gain relief in any state, no matter what he did; not if he lay down, not if he rested, not if he tried to distract himself, not if he took potions. It was just there, boring down on him with consistency, forcing his thoughts to become bleak when they had been picking up. Being ill all the time made him feel frail, made him feel like it was unrealistic for him to imagine that he could carry on with his life.

Draco was at the very top of their six storey building, in a little alcove with the sharp breeze blowing over him, next to the roof garden. The plants they had there were curious and beautiful. Draco had a thick, enchanted blanket wrapped all around him. He liked to sit up here in absolute silence, focussing on any shred of peace he could muster.

After a while behind him, he head Harry bring James up.

“Draco,” Harry said.

“Yes.”

“Look who’s here to see you!”

James bounded up to him, and kissed his father on the cheek happily. He was two and a half years old. Gods, Draco’s time with Harry had flown! And at that kiss, the warmth that ran through Draco, was just, was just unbelievable. He could have cried. He was so proud of his boy. To be accepted by your child, someone so pure, was such a great joy. Draco gently held James’s blinking, smiling face and regarded it.

“And what have you done today young man?”

“Went fishing with Daddy,” James rapidly began reeling off, looking very animated, “Little worm on the hook and it’s wriggly.”

Draco smiled to himself. Everything this sweet boy said seemed like genius to him.

“How’re you feeling?” Harry asked.

Draco turned his face into his shoulder to acknowledge Harry. “No different since the last time you asked.”

“We need someone to look after James again so I can spend more time with you.”

“You are spending time with me,” Draco snapped. “It would be difficult not to, as we live together.” He sighed. “Harry, why do you see spending time with me as something that you can’t do with our son here? Don’t you think that’s a little problematic? That that doesn’t bode well for the future?”

“I just want to spend all the time with you that I can. I feel like I can’t…give myself to James you know? Because I’m worried, I’m stretched out.”

Draco only paused long enough to let Harry finish speaking.

“I am explicitly telling you that I don’t want you to send our son anywhere. Do you understand? Be a father to him and look after him.”

“Are you saying I’m a bad father?”

Here Draco really did pause. “No. That was rude of me. I’m trying to very clearly state that under no circumstances do I want our son sent away again.”

Draco felt short breathed. He looked out over the view of London again.

“I won’t send him away. I can’t…guarantee it. I can say I’ll try my best not to do it. Like ninety-nine percent.”

“Just because we can afford to do so doesn’t mean that we should. We shouldn’t do what’s easy because it’s affordable.”

That was the final word for now. The time that Draco had spent in his youth in ‘proper institutions’ and boarding and other such rubbish had seemed like a fabulous idea to his so called parents, but had alienated and isolated him, and so lead to what he saw as his life going irreversibly wrong. This lay very heavily on his mind.

Harry reached out with his free hand and stroked Draco’s cold cheek gently, and Draco leant into the touch, closing his eyes.

***

Harry threw a little powder in the floo and sat back down, resting his bare, nobbly elbows on his knees. James was playing at his feet with a couple of wizard toys and a couple of muggle toys.

“Hello? Remus?” He always felt a little silly talking to the fireplace, it just wasn’t normal.

“Hello?” A man’s voice. Someone moved to their fireplace quickly on the other side.

“Harry,” Remus said in his warm way. “How nice to hear from you. I wasn’t expecting it.”

Harry nodded. James came up to the fireplace and said his hellos. Remus really was good with him. Harry and Remus had a pleasant, general conversation for about twenty minutes or so. It was nice, actually. It made Harry wondered when the last time they really spoke like two people that were close was, and he was disappointed to realise he couldn’t remember.

There was a natural pause. Remus waited patiently.

“I’ve been thinking,” Harry opened, looking down. “About being Teddy’s godfather. It would be nice for him to come round sometimes, with you and Tonks as well of course, for me to spend time with him. I should do that really as a godfather…and I haven’t. Look, I’m sorry about that.”

“That’s alright Harry, I would like that. You’ve had a lot to contend with. No one is blaming you for not being able to do everything. Your circumstances have been unique.”

“Aw man don’t…look,” Harry ran his hand through his hair. “Don’t excuse me would you? Just save it. Thanks I mean, but save it. It does me no good.” Harry gestured at nothing, spreading his arms.

Remus inclined his head.

“If you need a babysitter, come to me, that’s all I’m saying,” Harry tried to make the conversation light again.

“That sounds good. You’ll have to call sometime when you can speak to Tonks as well, I’m sure she’d like to know how you’re doing, although hopefully we’ll see you soon. And it really is nice to hear from you Harry.”

“You too.”

They ended up arranging a time for Lupin’s family to visit Harry’s.

“Jamie? I’m just going upstairs to talk to Draco.”

James smiled.

Harry always referred to Draco as Draco to their son, and Draco always referred to him as ‘your father’. It sounded so stern and formal to Harry, but that was Draco for you: stern and formal.

Harry quietly walked into his bedroom to find Draco sat up in bed, an open book on his swollen belly, silently crying.

Draco jumped, or more spasmed on Harry’s entry. His book fell to the floor. These days he did his crying in private. He was actually extremely grateful of finally, after over two years, having a modicum of control over when, where and even how much he cried.

The lamp lights were low and comforting. Harry looked upset on seeing Draco.

“Damn,” Draco whispered with feeling.

Harry sat on the bed next to him, facing him, taking his hand. Harry’s every thought and feeling was easy to read on his face. Draco had to look away.

“What’s wrong Draco?”

“Nothing really. I just like to have these moments to myself sometimes. It is satisfying to cry.”

Harry thought this over. “But why?” Draco knew Harry hated feeling powerless. And underneath that, there was insecurity over the possibility of not being loved. Whenever someone was slightly upset or hurt, whenever there was the slightest issue with someone, Harry played it out in his head to its final, worst conclusion in a matter of moments. This was why he stayed away from people, it was just too much for him.

“Why do you think Harry? I’m, I’m unhappy.” Draco didn’t like to use the official, medical term that he had been diagnosed with: clinical depression. It was unpalatable. Pathetic.

“Because of the past?”

“Yes.” Draco closed his eyes. “Not you. My things. My past. Me.” Typical - when he cried, he had to reassure someone else. He wasn’t bitter though. He understood. It would even be sweet in a way if it wasn’t extremely tiresome.

Harry now held the hand he had been holding with two hands and kissed it very gently, lovingly.

“I wish I could take your pain away from you. I wish I could make it better for you. I would if I could. I would do anything.”

“I know,” Draco exhaled.

“Dobby!”

Dobby appeared with a pop instantly.

“Watch James will you?”

“Yes Sir!”

Draco began crying again. Perhaps he couldn’t control it as well as he thought.

“You’ve made huge amounts of progress though Draco, just in your whole being, your attitude, your understanding. The abuse…it sent you somewhere simple, somewhere primal, somewhere purely scared. I love seeing the complex, amazingly contradictory person that you are. It’s like, like you’ve been flowering. You have so many interests, you’re so unique. So alive.”

Harry had never been one to divulge personal thoughts and they had both strongly preferred not to discuss the abuse, until now.

“Can I talk to you about it?” Draco asked, meeting his gaze. _Will you allow me? Can you bear it?_

“Of course,” Harry immediately replied. He moved a little closer to Draco.

“I fought at first. I was defiant. I was angry. I was loud. I was resistant. As if it was some sort of damned test. I bore test and torture and…and, and…and rape well. And then some. And for what? Only for it to be sweeter when being ground down, grain by grain, slowly. I must have had everything that you can do to a person done to me, and more besides.” Tears were rolling down Draco’s face as he spoke. Harry just looked at him. “Being touched…being touched in that way by my own aunt. My mother’s sister. Being forced to do things to her body, a woman’s body, and having things done to me. And taunted. And tortured. Naked all of the time, and, and tied. Vampires always watching to see when they could feed when I wasn’t in use. Scared of the shifting dark and the voices that they made me hear, the appalling things they made me see in my own mind. They even got in there too.”

Draco’s words seemed to come to a natural end. Harry was sickened. He didn’t verbalise what he was thinking; that he really wasn’t sure how someone could come back from that and that he couldn’t imagine such experiences, but he was sure that his feelings hung in the air, already known.

“I have no doubt that you wouldn’t have contended with any of it. You would have died proudly on the first night. _I_ should have died proudly on the first night.”

“Draco,” Harry simply said, “Can’t you see? You _didn’t_ contend with it. You didn’t. It’s not your fault, you have to accept that remember? I know Luna has told you this as well. You have to accept that it was not your fault.” He wiped at Draco’s tears with his thumbs. He held Draco’s face in his hands. He moved closer, holding Draco’s head and shoulders, smoothing Draco’s hair. He kissed Draco’s head again and again and held him close.

“Well. Don’t feel like you can’t cry. Cry whenever you like and as much as you want and I’ll understand. I don’t know if I can provide any sort of…definitive wisdom about all of this, about what’s happened to you, about the past, about us, about everything, but I can try and comfort you and you know, make you smile,” Harry whispered.

At that, Draco was amazed to find that he did smile a bit into Harry’s neck. He hardly felt fantastic, but yes, he felt relatively comforted, all things considering. Harry’s neck smelt gorgeous. Its smell was heady. Draco was sure he could get drunk from it. When Harry went to shift, Draco found himself saying, “No.”

Harry was confused. “No?”

“I want to stay in your neck,” Draco said simply, embarrassed of course. It was probably the best thing he could have said to Harry. Of course, Harry loved it. He chuckled, and Draco could feel the chuckle in his body and throat. Draco kissed Harry’s neck a few times in a chaste way, and found himself enjoying Harry tensing. If he stopped to consider it, it was very strange that they were kissing now, given what he had just disclosed. But he wasn’t going to stop and consider it. Draco knew that he overanalysed things far too much. Right now, he liked having the power to kiss, the choice. He nibbled at Harry’s neck a bit, and _felt_ the emotions in the room rise one hundred percent. God, how could you feel emotions rising anyway?

Harry turned his head, and they kissed gently but passionately. Kissing was such a wonderful connection for Draco. It seemed madness to him that he had some sort of power over Harry, but he loved the idea of it. Harry was such a fantastic distraction to pain.

“You’re really very…” He whispered with his eyes closed against Harry.

“Very…?”

“Oh, you know. All of it. I hate to give you the satisfaction but, you know. Handsome, gorgeous, fantastic, a sensual kisser, a sensual lover.”

Draco never complimented Harry. He never complimented anyone, actually. Firstly, he hated telling The Boy Who Lived that he was The Boy Who Lived and secondly, he felt that things like attraction and appreciation could be sensed. They weren’t…his way. But, nevertheless it was pleasant to compliment Harry and it seemed to achieve positive results-

Harry gently lay Draco down. His face was bright red and his expression was fluctuating, uncertain.

“Do you really think those things?”

Draco blinked. “Yes.”

Harry straddled him without putting any pressure on his pregnant body, and Draco was lying on his back with his arms up. Harry kissed his neck, his ear, his cheek, so tenderly. One hand caressed up his back as frim as it was gentle and another through his hair. How was it possible that harry could clutch most of Draco’s hair close to his scalp gently? Draco loved the feeling of the roots of his hair being caressed, and Harry loved messing up Draco’s hair.

“I love you Draco Malfoy,” Harry said in a low voice against Draco’s face. Harry blew his mind. He felt so alive.

“What do you do to me Harry? I love you too.”

They kissed for what seemed a long time, increasing and decreasing in fervour. Harry broke away to lie next to him, sighing contentedly, thinking.

“Do you want anything else?” He asked. Conversations like this were so clumsy, he would have never said anything like that in any of his relationships or sexual interactions before Draco, but he supposed it was good to be clear. And well, they were really probably past awkwardness, all things considered.

“No,” Draco replied simply.

“Okay,” Harry agreed.

***

As it turned out, Lupin did come over as arranged with his family, and they had a very pleasant time. Harry and Draco were slightly surprised that anything could pass nicely for them; without drama, without high stakes, without life and death situations. Draco even enjoyed the sense of mundanity that their visit brought. It was comforting, it felt like their life.

Teddy, who was older than James, was kneeled, patiently playing with a very excitable, and to Harry’s mind, quite annoying, James, explaining things to him, encouraging him, making him laugh. Teddy was a slightly shy boy, but very happy, and extremely kind. He had a starter wand, which he freely gave to James, and which James hogged, wide-eyed.

Draco sat by the window in his wheelchair, so as to not feel too clammy, a blanket over his legs and stomach, in an attempt, if he was honest with himself, to conceal his bump.

Teddy was a metamorphagus like his mother, and James shrieked with laughter every time Teddy changed an aspect of himself, especially his hair colour, which seemed to be James’s favourite thing for Teddy to do. Draco got the impression that Teddy wasn’t particularly amazed with his abilities, which was understandable as people were never impressed by gifts they had freely, such as Harry with his power, but still, he had almost certainly expected childish pride or vanity. _That’s how I would have felt,_ he thought, and felt ashamed.

The only aspect of himself that Teddy seemed to have permanently changed was his hair colour, which was a sort of light, electric blue that strangely suited him so much that no one commented on it.

Harry sat languidly on the sofa, unconsciously posed like some sort of king, while Lupin next to him opposite the fire. They talked politics casually.

Tonks got up from next to the boys and grabbed a wooden chair, pulling it up to Draco. Draco immediately felt awkward. He was not good with human interaction. He instantly felt terrible.

“Hey Draco,” Tonks smiled.

Draco smiled very shyly. “Hello,” nodded.

“How’re you feeling, with the baby?”

“I feel…” _Terrible._ “…Alright.”

Draco and Tonks regarded each other, then both laughed. Draco offered a small smile underneath his eyelashes.

“I’m glad we have a chance to spend time with each other Draco, finally. We’re family, we should be able to. Our boys having contact, I think that’s great.”

“I’m glad too,” Draco almost whispered. He meant it. Did he dare hope to have another friend?

“Mum would love to see you at some point.”

“That would be good,” Draco nodded, cringing at his apparently limited vocabulary. He felt embarrassed at seeing the aunt he had always been such an insufferable brat towards; he didn’t deserve to see her.

“Don’t worry, mum doesn’t hold anything against you, not that there’s anything to hold against you,” Tonks shrugged. She was watching the boys too, relaxed.

“Ah,” So his emotions had showed on his face.

“Nice to see those two as well, bonding,” Tonks laughed, motioning at Lupin and Harry. Harry was bouncing his bare ankle on his knee, relaxed, talking away and gesturing with one hand.

“It is actually.”

“How _is_ Harry?”

Draco considered. “He’s not quite…sound of mind, regardless of how he views things…actually I don’t know how he views things.”

***

“ _Harry,”_ Draco emphasised, in an exasperated, irritated voice. He was trying not to show any amusement on his face at all, and probably failing. He was topless, with his arms lying in a relaxed way above his head. Harry was lying next to him, nuzzling his head in Draco’s armpit.

“Yes?” He said innocently.

Draco rolled his eyes. “We have an appointment?”

“Do we?” Harry growled under his breath and licked Draco’s armpit hungrily. Draco shuddered. He could easily become distracted and lie here, missing the appointment. He and Harry managed to miss a lot of things like that. He frowned.

They didn’t have much sex. When they did, they went through phases of it; if they had sex once, say, in the morning, Harry would attempt to again in the afternoon, which would probably happen, and then, at Draco’s most preferred time (usually), in the dead of the night. It felt so much more intimate then, for him anyway.

Draco _hated_ undressing for Pomfrey. He sighed as he awkwardly pulled his big knit jumper off in what he thought was the cold (he was always cold, Pomfrey hypothesised that it was because he was apparently underweight). It never got easier to undress in this room. How could she not comprehend this?

She held what looked like a chunk of glass against his scars, stretching his skin out in places as he just stood there, overexposed, like some dumb landmark, not even looking at him, as if he wasn’t a human.

Harry was sat nearby in a wooden chair, flipping through a magazine. Who knew what he was thinking. He didn’t like Draco being poked and prodded either. The strain of Draco’s pain was ever present.

Over the past two and a half years or so, Draco’s scars had continuously changed. Sometimes old injuries rose up in an ugly way, as if they had only happened a few weeks ago, others time his skin was almost completely clear and most of the time it was somewhere in between. His routine had included being dabbed and daubed with salve, potions and attending these blasted appointments. His skin had actually developed dryness and sensitivity at times due to how much he had to tend to it. The worst part was when scars and injuries came to light in very sensitive and private areas, Draco was mortified as he remembered this again, and his face coloured.

“Harry can you stop that?” He said, in what would almost be considered as irritable for Draco. “Can you look at me?”

Harry looked up at him, considered, tossed the magazine aside. “Sure.” He ran both hands through the sides of his hair, his eyes settling like a weight on Draco.

Draco stood there, in his briefs, angling himself awkwardly away from Pomfrey. He shivered.

“Mr Malfoy I assure you the temperature of this room has been set to ensure you do not feel cold, that would hardly do,” Pomfrey tutted. “In any case, I have good news.”

“Yes?” Draco said.

“What we were hoping has happened Mr Malfoy.” Pomfrey beamed at him, standing back as if he were a painting she had created and was proud of. “It might have not happened.”

“What?” Harry said.

“Mr Malfoy’s scars have settled,” Pomfrey smiled. They both looked at her. Draco just held his breath; he wasn’t an experiment, and he just couldn’t bear any more bad news.

“Allow me to explain. Mal-Draco, your skin will no longer change, unless you have further injuries, in which case you will of course be, ah, injured. But your body will not regress. It is now in a fixed state. The scars and markings that you bear now are what you will keep. Will they themselves fade? Who knows. But the point is there will be no regression.”

“Why? Why has this happened?” Draco asked softly.

“Ah, who can say? There has been research to suggest that such cases have happened before due to emotional resolutions within patients, all conjecture of course.”

Draco swallowed, trying to get his bearings. He suddenly remembered to grab his dark blue robe towel off the side and shove it on.

“So why does he still have those markings?” Harry nodded towards Draco, who was holding his robe protectively around himself, looking down. He wanted all of this to be over now.

“Ah yes. I believe those are the scars Draco – Mr Malfoy here – received from the severing curse delivered by yourself?”

Currently Draco’s body was covered in pure white, thin, branching scars that began at his mid thighs, crisscrossing all over his body, all the way up his neck, only stopping at his face. It was almost like Draco was wearing some of his veins on the outside in the wrong colour.

“Y,yes.” Draco stammered.

“Well, I couldn’t say!” Pomfrey said cheerfully, looking between them.

Harry was getting bloody tired of this pointless fucking conversation. “Why haven’t _these_ scars gone away?” He said. He was trying to fight an increasing sense of panic at the idea of Draco keeping these marks that he had inflicted on his body for the rest of his life…

“There’s no definitive answer. Chance? To blame some kind of subconscious decision making process on Mr Malfoy’s part would be quite damning, rather unfair I suppose…”

Harry slapped his forehead with his palm. She really hadn’t needed to say that.

“This _is_ good news Potter. He could have been regressing back and forth his whole life, becoming immune to treatment, some of the cases I have seen…by the way, this baby isn’t as big as the last one is it? Funny how they’re always different…anyhow, Mr Malfoy is now free to get any, I mean any further, tattoos, should he wish.”

Why would he want to do that?” Harry asked.

“It’s a wizarding thing,” Draco sighed quietly. “You know how we always see old wizards and wizards that don’t really mix with the muggle world with tribal tattoos and all over facial tattoos and body modifications? Th-that-that’s what Madame Pomfrey means.” _Can we go?_ He pleaded at Harry with his eyes.

***

At home, Draco spent a few hours with James, without really acknowledging Harry, and then went to bed, his bump as uncomfortable as ever. Harry had decided that they wouldn’t perform the spell to see the baby that they had with James, because Draco hated being powerless to cast it himself. It somehow made him feel less of a parent, why was it that he couldn’t even see his own child? Besides this, Draco liked the idea of the gender of the baby being a surprise. He had something to look forward to.

Draco slept through to about seven in the evening, when Harry thought that it was finally probably time to wake him and try to get some dinner down him. He sighed, and took both James and some food up to Draco. James had been playing on the kitchen floor while Harry had made stuffed courgettes and a couple of sides. He had thought about eating with Draco, but dismissed it: who knew when or if Draco would eat.

“Draco,” He said tiredly, putting the food down on one of the large bedside cabinets.

Draco woke slowly, and tried to sit up. Instinctively Harry clasped his hand and helped him, and Draco allowed him without really acknowledging him. He felt sick and dread when he saw the food; it was always the same, never ending situation. He would gain an incremental amount of weight briefly, and then somehow lose it again. He couldn’t get a handle on the situation.

James got into bed next to Draco and cuddled him and the baby bump. They all sat in silence.

“Draco. Are you unhappy with me?”

“No,” Draco sighed, not meeting Harry’s eyes.

“I know you are.”

Draco shrugged, chewing his lip, which gave a hint of his volatile emotions that could spill over in tears at any moment.

Harry tried to take Draco’s hand. “Draco I’m sorry – so sorry – about your scars. I’ve told you before I had no idea what that curse would do.”

“I know,” Draco whispered. One man that he loved designed the curse, the other cast it, and finally, _he_ chose to keep the scars. Draco suddenly barked with dry laughter, and both Harry and James looked alarmed. Draco’s instinct to pacify every situation and please others kicked in. “I suppose I should be grateful, like Madame Pomfrey said, it could be a lot worse, I’m lucky really.” He stroked James’s head. It was so strange that someone that had been through as much as Draco had should think of himself as lucky, and that no matter what happened to someone, there seemed always a reason to be grateful it couldn’t be worse. Draco felt that he wasn’t even allowed to feel angry; he had to feel grateful.

“Anyway, I, I, need to go to the bathroom. Could you help me please?” Draco wasn’t meeting Harry’s eyes and Harry could tell that he was trying to be light. Harry helped him up and as Draco was holding onto the bathroom frame, his back to Harry, Harry said again, “Draco I’m sorry, please.”

“I know you are Harry, it’s alright.”

“Tell me how you feel.”

There was a pause. Draco turned rigidly. Harry could tell that his cheeks were now wet, though his voice was the same, tiny, resigned, maddening one, if a little more serious now. “If it were just me, I would not care too much for my appearance. I know there is nothing…I know I don’t appear…nice, attractive, I’m certainly not handsome or good looking. Scars hardly make a difference. But it’s...difficult to be so inadequate whilst trying to maintain a relationship with you, to maintain friends and family, to maintain by all appearances, an ordinary life, which is so opposed to what I am.”

Draco went into the bathroom and closed the door. That was when his contractions started.

Draco gave birth to his baby in a hospital bed, and it was a difficult birth. For a few hours, the baby was stuck inside him, not moving either way. _Not that it would move back in…_ Draco had thought to himself manically.

After this, Draco had been taken into psychiatric care. It was the same facility that he had stayed at before. His anxieties and depression had been at what Luna had explained to him were ‘manageable’ levels, for him at least, not that they were manageable in any sense of the word at all, but the exhaustion after his birth was the final weight on top of the strangeness of finally not having his baby inside him and the anxiety that this produced, the strangeness of giving birth in the first place and the pressure of being a parent, again, when he already felt so inadequate. This had sent him into what Luna called ‘unmanageable’ depression and anxiety, which meant that every second of his existence was terrifying – he literally felt terrified all the time for no reason – and unbearable. He did not get a second’s sleep. He could not eat. All he could do was sit and stare, wide eyed. He felt paranoid…he started to think that there were drafts coming into his enclosed room…that toxic air was diffusing through it…he missed his sons, especially his baby, and he felt guilty.

After three weeks, these sensations, that had felt like they would surely never end, lifted. And for this he felt happy. He mistrusted not feeling that way, and blinked into his previous existence with a body that now felt unnatural and numb, because it had previously felt like it was in agony. During the birth, he had ripped, from his vagina to his anus. He was now stitched up like a dolly. Draco shuddered.

Harry had visited him almost every other day, looking tired, biting his lip, looking tired, his eyes and eyebrows strained in a strange way that seemed to ask, _What are we going to do Draco?_ Occasionally he had had a tiny, silent bundle with him. Hm. Funny. This one did not cry as much as the last one. Draco had been puzzled to see James looking so sad. It was as if he was looking at a sad picture of his beloved, dear dear son. He had wanted to comfort him but had been too slow. Other people had visited too; Andromeda, whose sniffly crying made Draco queasy and made him tick, Teddy, Bill, even Mr Weasley, who talked politely, and just the right amount for both of them, if there could be a right amount to talk for two people. The person that had behaved most normally was Fleur, and this was the visit that had made _Draco_ feel most normal.

A tattier than usual looking Harry was helping Draco get his bag out of his room. Draco smiled at him, elated at not being maniacally depressed, for now at least. Harry broke Draco’s gaze, confused, as if he didn’t know what to trust. Draco’s room had been very small and white, just as he had asked. Harry had become angry and what a small space Draco had been in before he realised that it was what Draco had wanted. Draco had liked curling up on the hard floor there, without anyone to behave normally around. God, to do so was a strain. Sometimes he felt that he so desperately needed to live in a very bare, very silent way, but there was no way for him to do it with the life that he had. He would curl up on the floor with the bright white lights overhead. It felt like lying in the sun…

Harry thought Draco was eerie when he sat down on an armchair at home. He was still wearing hospital slippers, and his dainty, knobbly ankles were jutting out precariously. Harry handed him a tiny baby, and as Draco held the child the heat that had been missing from his soul flooded back in where only manic depression had been absent. He smiled a true smile at the creature in his arms, and fell in love. The child was small and delicate. Draco wanted to gently hold out all its limbs and examine them.

“What’s his name?”

“Albus.”

“An appropriate and well pitched name.” Draco did not sound as if he liked the name.

“Albus Severus.”

Draco’s head snapped up to Harry. “Why?”

Harry shrugged. “For the respect I feel for him, in the end. For you. There’s a strong connection that we both had with him…weather we liked it or not.”

Draco still felt too fragile, numb and sensitive all at the same time after having come out of psychiatric care to try and fathom this decision of Harry’s, which was as bizarre as it was touching. He didn’t know what to make of his current love naming their son after his previous love. He sighed. The idea that Harry had a few screws loose imposed on him again, and he nudged it out of his consciousness again, gently.

To Harry, Draco was behaving eerily. He didn’t know how to feel around Draco. He had missed him. A lot. He had had a son to look after as best as he could, alone, something which he had painfully felt had to be done by two people. Harry would never sign up to single parenting. He sort of felt…betrayed that Draco had been absent. This life with Draco wasn’t what he thought it would be, and it was making him feel panic in a low level, uncomfortable way.

“I missed you,” Harry said, petulance creeping into his voice. He sighed tiredly and looked away.

“I missed you too,” Draco smiled. “I know it appears strange to you that I was gone and now I’m here but…I am not in control of, you know, the condition, as much as I would like to be. If I seem overly cheery it’s because I am so glad not to feel that way, by the grace of God…” Draco swallowed, and shuddered. “Anyhow, I’m also a little high still, which will settle.” One of the tactics that they had used where Draco was voluntarily incarcerated was get him so high that his feeling subsided slightly, or at least altered. In Draco’s case, they had to get him very very high. He would have gotten even more high if he could have, but they wouldn’t let him, they wouldn’t let him climb the final peak…

When Draco had been abused, there were phases where he had been given highly addictive, blissful, appalling substances to make him ‘keen’ to deliver sexual favours, and to enjoy depriving him of course, and to enjoy his dependence…

Harry watched Draco’s face pale.

“Let me grab something…” He said going out into the hall. Bill had dropped something off two days ago, and had sat with Harry for two hours, sharing snacks he had brought along from Fleur, being good company, and had then watched over James for an hour while Harry had a nap. It was a wooden, white washed, perfectly moon shaped crib. It was handmade, and very in keeping with the aesthetic of Bill and Fleur’s home. Harry supposed Bill needed something to do to keep his mind off everything.

“It’s lovely,” Draco said. He didn’t want to part with Albus, (it irritated and amused him that the name already seemed to suit the baby), but there would be a lifetime to hold him. At this thought, he beamed widely. Lord, he _was_ still high. He breathed Albus in one last time, deeply, with his eyes closed and then placed him in the crib. James was upstairs having his evening wash with Dobby’s help (the amount of mud that boy attracted was incredible to Draco).

Draco’s stitches were still excruciating, and their pain was strange; he could feel that they were deep. As Harry sat on the sofa next to him Draco winced as his position shifted, but then his body settled. Draco was all wrong down there so he didn’t want to think about it. He took Harry’s hand and entwined their fingers. He smiled at Harry, and stroked his cheek, then cupped it. Harry’s breath hitched.

“I’m sorry Harry,” Draco said quietly. He wished he could move more. “I know I’m not there for you.”

Harry shrugged. Harry always shrugged when there was too much to say. When there was too much to say, he chose to say nothing. The problem was that he didn’t present himself as vulnerable, so Draco never thought to have a relationship in which he was the comforter with him. Harry needed to express himself more to him in certain ways, Draco thought. Draco planted a dry, ghostly kiss onto Harry’s lips, and then kissed him fully, smiling into Harry’s mouth.

“Your children make you the happiest I’ve ever seen you.” Harry was so happy that their boys made Draco happy, of course he was, but there had been a jealousy and bitterness that he always denied to himself since the moment James was born – he knew Draco did, would always love his children far more than he could Harry. The love he felt for them was simple. The love he felt for Harry was twisted and complex and to Harry, conditional. 

Draco inclined his head. “But no more. I can’t go through any of it again. I’m serious Harry. I wouldn’t survive. I wouldn’t exchange our sons for anything, but I wouldn’t survive if I had to go through another pregnancy.”

Harry nodded. “Two sons is more than enough. I suppose we should go to Pomfrey and see about contraception?”

“What’s that?”

“Ways to you know, prevent having children.”

“Oh I see. Yes.”

They spent another twenty or so blissful minutes just leant against each other, hugging, before it was time to fish James out.

***

Draco was sure that the mere presence of his boys saved him from the darkest possible insanities. They made him feel quite sane sometimes, quite normal. How could that be?

His birth wound took ages to heal. He was sore, deep into his flesh, for a long time. For this practical reason, Harry hadn’t tried to have sex with him, which actually surprised Draco. Sex was all Harry thought about apparently, Draco was sure that Harry would have found a way to ‘try it on’, as he put it so eloquently. But no, all Harry really did was hug him, with trepidation, and hold his hand. He seemed quietly unhappy and confused, and that was very unnerving to Draco. All sorts of things that he at least knew in part were ridiculous came to him. Would Harry leave him? Did…did Harry not love him anymore? Had Harry finally realised the truth; that Draco was unlovable?

“Do we still have that check cup for Al this morning?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “For the last time, yes.”

When they got to the clinic, there was a younger doctor, Elizabeth, who ran careful diagnostics on Albus. She frowned slightly.

“He is asthmatic. But other than that, perfectly healthy.”

Draco’s stomach dropped. “What? Why?”

“He was born this way. But it’s a perfectly, almost unnoticeable, non-harmful, certainly non-fatal illness in the wizarding world.” She beamed at them, and carefully handed Draco’s son back to him. She was so much more human than Pomfrey.  

The news made Draco very sad. Harry took it much better. “Ok,” he nodded. “Thanks.”

Draco felt so united with Harry as a parent. So close to him.

That night Draco pressed into Harry’s arm, while Harry lay on his back, looking at the ceiling, the other arm under his head.

“What are you thinking?” Draco asked.

“Nothing.”

Draco sighed. “Harry, what’s wrong?” He was now completely healed. All that remained was the memory of his pain, which almost felt like pain in itself.

“The last time you went, it made me think about things.” Draco could tell that Harry was choosing his words in the dark, thinking them over. “I still love you Draco,” He said more warmly, turning, taking both of Draco’s hands in his own. “I always will. That will never change. But I just feel less certain about us, about you, about me. I’ve been an absolutely shit boyfriend, partner, that much I know, and, I guess I have problems. More than I was willing to admit. In my darkest moments…” Draco could feel Harry’s warm breath. “I wonder if we’d be better off separate. Well, I wouldn’t. I’d be miserable. And it’s not just about sex. Why try to force you to be something you’re not, you don’t want to be? I just go round in circles and ask myself the same questions.” Harry breathed heavily. Draco could see long, dark shapes of his arms folding to press his hands into his eyes in despair.

“I think the same things,” Draco whispered. “There is a stage when you think that everything can be healed by love. But in your sober moments, you know this to be untrue. What should we do?”

“I don’t want one of us to leave.”

Draco tried to think of a solution, and Harry thought that he had fallen asleep.

“Well, we’ve acknowledged the situation and adjusted our intimacy appropriately, for now. I think we are as united as ever as parents, which is lovely. Neither of us seem to be going anywhere, and we have an unnatural amount of time. I don’t feel like my time is being wasted. Shall we just give each other space?”

“Ok,” Harry said, and rolled over.


End file.
